


Rumor Has It

by rufeepeach



Category: Easy A (2010), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Movie rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Belle Charmin decided to lie about having a date, she forgot that Ruby Lucas had a mouth the size of the whole Storybrooke U campus. Now the whole school thinks she's sleeping around, and some people need favors, while others just want to talk. Belle could suddenly have any man she wants, and yet the only one she actually likes is entirely off-limits. Professor Gold is also the only one who believes her denials, as the rumours get out of hand and people start getting hurt. Easy A!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is entirely Marchie's fault. She asked for a college!AU inspired by the 2010 movie Easy A.
> 
> However: while watching the movie is a wonderful and entirely hilarious use of your time, prior knowlege of the plot shouldn't be vital for understanding this fic. It also deviates from the canon plot at several points, so it's not a carbon copy of the movie itself.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Just to set the record straight: I have only ever had sex with one person.  
  
Ironically, that’s the one relationship no one actually knows about.   
  
This isn’t a diary: my diary is sat across the room, staring at me accusingly. It knows I’m cheating on it with this. It can get in back of the line of people ready to accuse me of whoring around.  
  
This isn’t a diary: this is something closer to a novel. Call it autobiographical fiction, if you want, since I’m changing some of the names to protect the innocent.   
  
When I started college, I thought… I don’t know, that it’d be easier somehow. Less juvenile and fucked up than high school, at any rate. Maybe I should have known better. _  
  
\---  
  
Belle Charmin looks up from her third attempt to commit any of the past year to paper, and sighs. It’s not a good idea, really, allowing any of this to live on in any way, shape or form. No one needs to know about Jefferson Madden’s problem, or Professor Mills’ axe to grind, or Graham Hunter’s guilt complex.  
  
No one needs to know about the warmth in Professor Gold’s eyes, either, or how she learned the secret of his first name, the first student in history to do so.  
  
No one should ever ever know, and yet Belle plans to commit every moment she can remember to paper. If only because otherwise, no one will ever believe the truth, and she refuses to die with everyone still thinking she was a prostitute for a year of college.  
  
She wants a job, someday: this’ll come up one way or another.  
  
So she decides, finally, this third attempt, to sit back in her desk chair and type until the words become automatic and thoughtless. To remember rather than write, and if it still doesn’t work she’ll buy a megaphone and just shout at the whole campus until they believe her.  
  
With a solid plan B in mind, Belle settles in with her Red Bull and her laptop, and prepares to share her tale.  
  
—  
  
 _Alright then, here goes nothing.  
  
My mum always told me to be brave. I’ve found it easier to do the scary shit first, and let the bravery come out of the fact that you have to do this whether you like it or not. Too late to go back now.  
  
Is it brave to write it rather than say it aloud?  
  
I guess I’ll find out._  
  
—  
  
It started with Sophomore year.  
  
Maine in the autumn was not the brightest and sunniest of places, but Belle preferred warm jackets and gloves to bikinis and shorts anyway, and for her first year she had been certain that SU was the perfect fit for her.  
  
But the second year rolled around, and she moved into her dorm with Abigail - she had thought, long and hard, about sharing a room with Ruby this year, and then thought better of it - and everything felt… off, somehow.  
  
Maybe it was because Greg had transferred away, and their break up had been so quiet and anticlimactic. They’d been together since they were children, an item since they’d finally kissed at a party at the age of thirteen, and it was odd not having him around.  
  
Even if Texas was a better fit for him; even if they had been little more than best friends with the occasional hook-up by the end.  
  
She was missing a childhood comfort, and somehow sophomore year was already feeling lonelier and scarier by far than the last.  
  
“Hey, are you alright?” Abbie finished hanging her posters on her half of the walls and frowned at her.  
  
“Yeah,” Belle rubbed a hand over her eyes, “Moving day just takes it out of me, I guess.”  
  
“I can go get a coffee or something if you want to take a lie down?” Abbie offered, and Belle smiled at her friend’s concern.  
  
“I’m okay, really, I just… coffee’s sounding like a good plan, actually. I can grab something for you and bring it back?”  
  
“That’d be great!” Abbie smiled gratefully, and turned to her boxes of clothes, “I’ll make a start on this mess.”  
  
“Alright, just a skinny latte for you, right?”  
  
“No, make it full fat,” Abbie grinned, and Belle eyed her suspiciously, “Freddy says he doesn’t mind what I eat so long as I’m happy, and I’m going to take him up on that!”  
  
“Oooh,” Belle raised her eyebrows, “Is this the same Freddy who you wrote me about over the summer?”  
  
“Maybe,” Abbie looked so happy Belle suddenly wanted to hit her with something. Something soft, though, that wouldn’t do any damage. “He said he’d come up and get a job on his dad’s farm so he could see me more.”  
  
“That’s lovely, Abbie, really,” Belle tried to be convincing, and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Abigail was one of the loveliest girls she’d ever met; if anyone deserved a knight in shining armour then it was her.  
  
“Yeah,” Abbie didn’t seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm, “Anyway, I might not be here when you get back: I have my first meeting of the year at three.”  
  
Abbie was a fairly regular member of the Student Ethics Committee, a group set up by Professor Regina Mills designed to keep crime, drugs, alcohol and random sex on campus to a minimum. They were the most polarising group in the whole university: people either supported them, or hated their guts.  
  
Belle knew, considering her upbringing and her general outlook, that she would have happily fallen into a kind of vague dislike and general piss-taking of the whole exercise, had it not been for Abbie.  
  
It was hard to dislike anything that seemed to make someone so nice so happy.  
  
Belle just nodded, and said “Well, if I’m coming back before then I’ll bring your coffee, otherwise I’ll see you later?”  
  
“Yeah,” Abbie smiled at her, a warm smile, “I hope you feel better.”  
  
Belle nodded, and turned to leave, muttering, “Me too,” as she went.  
  
—  
  
 _Yeah, somehow that first day back already got off to a bad start. Mom claims she can feel things in the air when the winds are changing, when the shit’s about to hit the fan. But then Emma claims she can spot a liar as soon as look at him, so it’s hard to know with my family.  
  
But it wasn’t until a few weeks later, when Abbie had gone to visit Freddy and I was stuck with Ruby for a whole day without respite that things really got started._  
  
—  
  
“Wait, wait,” Ruby shook her head, “So Abbie the Moral Majority is off fucking some guy, and she still thinks she can sit on that Committee thing? That’s messed up.”  
  
Belle snorted into her coffee, “Please, the chances of Abbie doing anything with Fred are so slim it’s actually hilarious. They’re going to hold hands and skip through meadows or something, I don’t know.”  
  
Ruby set down her coffee and looked at her, hard, “Woah, what’s eating you?”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“Being a heinous cynical bitch is my job,” Ruby said, decisively, “you’re supposed to say ‘oh, no Rubes, she’s really nice and I’m sure she’s not at all a hypocrite’ or something.”  
  
“I don’t even know,” Belle said, “I just… I don’t feel right, anymore.”  
  
“Is it Professor Gold?” Ruby asked, sympathetically, “He rip your ideas apart again?”  
  
“No,” Belle shook her head, but then thought for a moment, “Okay, maybe a little bit. He’s an awesome teacher, so I don’t know why I feel so messed up every time he tears apart my arguments in class.”  
  
“Um, didn’t you just answer your own question?”  
  
“It’s the only way to learn, Ruby, you know that.”  
  
“Not if it gets you down for days afterward!”  
  
“I’ve been ‘down’ for weeks now. I don’t know why, maybe it’s just since Greg left.”  
  
“That lump?” Ruby snorted, “Holding a conversation with him was like talking to a brick. Only a brick would probably have more to say about things.”  
  
“Okay, well, you try saying goodbye for the first time to your oldest friend and see how you feel, hmm?”  
  
“Alright, sorry,” Ruby raised her hands in surrender, and then her eyes brightened, “Hey! Why don’t you come with me for the weekend? Granny’s not using the cottage so I’m having the guys over for a party.”  
  
Belle groaned inside: Ruby’s ‘guys’ were a group of seven boys from the football team, plus their assorted girlfriends, and they prided themselves on drinking a whole keg in half an hour between them. One of them, Pete, claimed he could do it all by himself: naturally, he was the one Ruby’d taken a real shine to.  
  
“No, it’s fine. I’m… I’m busy.”  
  
“Doing what? I thought you were Miss Lonely Mopeface.”  
  
“I ah… I have a date!” Belle improvised, “Yeah, one of Fred’s friends, Abbie hooked me up.”  
  
“Okay, what’s his name?” Ruby’s eyes narrowed, her expression reminding Belle of nothing less than a wolf who’d caught the right scent. Belle was sure her story smelt strongly of bullshit, but it was better that than a weekend spent with Pete and his buddies.   
  
“Cameron,” she blurted, then cringed: she knew the Titanic rewatch last night had been a bad idea. No way was Ruby going to buy that.  
  
“Uh huh.” Ruby nodded, and Belle knew she’d failed. “Cameron, cause that’s a sexy-ass name.”  
  
“Well, my Cameron is.”  
  
“Come on, Belle, just admit you haven’t been on a date since Greg left and come out with me and the guys. You’ll have fun, I promise!”  
  
A hundred images of alcohol, random drunken sex, the company of the pothead she’d only ever heard referred to as ‘Happy’, and all the things that would go wrong as a consequence flashed through Belle’s mind.  
  
“I’ll have fun on my date.” She corrected, calmly.  
  
“But…” Ruby sighed, and she did puppy-eyes very well for someone who was human and not canine, “I promised Doc you’d come with.”  
  
“Oh, Ruby, no.” Belle frowned at her friend, “What Rob Dockery does in his spare time is nothing to do with me, and I’m not being the tagalong friend again just so you can get laid.”  
  
“Fine,” Ruby shrugged, levelling a glare that was only just the right side of murderous at Belle, “But you’re a horrible person and I hope Hell is as fun for you as your _Cameron_.”  
  
“I hope Pete decides to make out with you before he’s too wasted to stand, this time.” Belle bit back, and then regretted it: that was a little on-the-nose for her liking. Ruby could be a little brash sometimes, but it was only because she knew they were close enough that Belle wouldn’t be offended by anything she said. Offended was the wrong word: irritated was more like it, these days.  
  
There was something wrong with her: nothing felt right this year.  
  
—  
  
 _I made a big fuss out of the ‘date’, one of my larger productions. I bought a new outfit and new underwear and everything, really went all-out, right up until the moment Ruby shrugged, hugged me, and left for the country house.  
  
Then I decided to get the hell out of Dodge, and head home for the weekend. My childhood home is only about two hours’ drive from campus with a good following wind, and I miss my family when I’m not with them. Emma’s an annoying brat sometimes, but mama and papa are… well, they’re still speaking to me even now, and they know everything.  
  
Not just speaking, but on my side and smiling and kicking ass anytime someone tries to slander my name. Of all the weirdos in the world who could have adopted me back in 1991, I think Mary Margaret and James Charmin were the best I could have gotten.  
  
I hung with Emma all weekend. She had been texting with Jefferson Madden, who she’d met and liked back when we did the school play together senior year. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the consensus - at that time, at least - was that he was gay as the sunrise.  
  
But, come Monday, I had a story to tell. Ruby wouldn’t accept a family visit as an excuse not to go and party, after all._  
  
—  
  
“So, how was your date with Mr Imaginary?” Ruby asked, as she and Belle made their way to classes. Belle had her English Lit seminar, Ruby had a chemistry lab session, although her fingernails were painted blood red again and Belle knew that Professor Wolfe wouldn’t approve.   
  
“ _Cameron_ ,” Belle stressed the name, “Was wonderful, a perfect gentleman. He bought me flowers and we went driving in his car, and he let us get Italian for dinner. Totally worth missing the party.”  
  
“Right, uh huh, sure,” Ruby nodded, “So you going out with him again?”  
  
“Um…” Belle knew that there was no way she could keep up a fake boyfriend, not for very long, so she shook her head, “No, I mean, probably not, he lives way out with Fred, after all, and I don’t want to be crowding him and Abbie or anything.”  
  
“But this Cameron was such a great date,” Ruby pressed, needing an admission of guilt, and Belle felt her stubbornness kick in, “Why not call him back?”  
  
“Eh, it was just one of those weekends, you know. Lost and all that.”  
  
“A whole weekend, huh?” A new gleam - lascivious and wicked - came into Ruby’s eyes, “So is that why you don’t want to see him again? Dirty, unmentionable sex acts?”  
  
“Ruby!” she gasped, scandalised, “It was nothing like that!”  
  
“Yeah right, I thought you might have just made him up, but now… oh my god you’re totally blushing! You did nasty, kinky shit with him and now you’re too embarrassed to see him again!”  
  
That put Belle in a very difficult position: either lie now or admit to the earlier lie. Neither was a nice prospect, but Ruby was eyeing her expectantly and she didn’t have time to deliberate.   
  
“Alright… yeah, okay, it wasn’t freaky or anything, but we kind of… spent the night. And it’d be awkward seeing him again after that, cause I don’t want… anyway, I don’t want to go out again, so I’m not calling him back.”  
  
“I knew it! Belle Charmin, secret super-slut!” She shouted, and everyone seemed to look their way.  
  
Belle was about to clamp her hand over her friend’s mouth to keep her quiet, when Professor Gold brushed - more like barged - past them, causing Ruby to drop one of her books. As she bent to pick it up she glared after him, “Sorry!” she called in a tone that suggested she was anything but, and Belle elbowed her in the ribs as Gold spun to face them.  
  
“I’m sorry, ladies, did I disturb your little chat?” His tone was biting, icy, as he came back to meet them.  
  
“No, we’re fine. Sorry, professor.” Belle shot a look to her friend, “Ruby needs to take her pills.”  
  
She was certain she didn’t miss the little smirk forming on his face, before the cold mask of imperious annoyance slid back into place. “Well, be that as it may, class starts in two minutes, Belle, and you know what happens to latecomers.”  
  
Ruby giggled as Belle nodded, solemnly, and Belle was just about ready to kill her friend when Gold turned back to face them, “Something funny, dearie?”  
  
Ruby shook her head, glanced at Belle, and then back at Professor Gold, who’s eyebrows were raise expectantly. “It’s just… you make late people answer a load of really bad questions, right?”  
  
“…Yes.” Gold frowned, “You’re not in my class, though.”  
  
“No,” she brushed that off with a wave of her red-clawed hand, “Belle’s always talking about it. Anyway, she’s done all the reading. Can’t make her stop. So it’s funny that that’s the punishment.”  
  
Gold glanced back at Belle, and she felt the heat rise in her face, “Well well, Belle. How does that explain your last B-minus?”  
  
“Not my fault if you disagree with my reading,” she mumbled, mortified. Ruby was so, so dead.  
  
“Indeed.” Gold smirked, and Belle wanted the floor to swallow her whole, “Well, class now starts in a minute and a half, but I’ll give you a head-start.”  
  
“Thanks.” Belle shot one last death-glare to Ruby, and walked past her professor toward the class doors. She heard Ruby call one last word of encouragement behind her, and Gold’s footsteps following as she hurried into the classroom and took her place beside Tom Herman.  
  
She avoided her professor’s eyes when he took his place at the front.  
  
He just smirked, the one time he caught her glancing at him: he was a bastard, for all that he was a brilliant teacher. And she still hadn’t pulled better than B-minus all semester.  
  
The lesson passed quickly, mainly because she kept her mouth shut for once and just made notes on what the others were saying. It was easier, sometimes, when the lessons were like this one: the rare times when Professor Gold decided to simply talk, rather than allowing much discussion. She couldn’t help that she enjoyed the sound of his voice.  
  
Abigail was waiting for her when she got back to the dorm.  
  
“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked, as Belle flopped back on her bed and stared resolutely at the ceiling.  
  
“No.” Belle groaned, and pulled a pillow up to cover her face. All the way back from class, guys had been wolf-whistling and girls had sneered. It was nice to be noticed, but a little unnerving.  
  
“Really?” Belle could almost hear Abbie’s eyebrows raise, “Because that’s not what I heard.”  
  
“Ruby Lucas needs to be muzzled.” Belle said, her voice muffled by the pillow. She pulled it back, and found Abbie smirking at her.  
  
“What she say, exactly?”  
  
“I told her about how I spent my weekend.”  
  
“You went home, didn’t you?” Abbie frowned, and Belle wondered for a moment about simply being honest with her friend.  
  
But Abbie knowing the truth would run the risk of telling her Ethics Committee friends, and then Belle would either be a liar or apparently ashamed of her ‘slut’ status. Better to keep up the lie.  
  
“I ah… I met someone.”  
  
Abbie’s eyes narrowed, “And spent a weekend with them?”  
  
“I told Ruby that, alright? And she decided that somehow one overnight stay turned into a marathon of weird, kinky sex stuff, and now I’m a ‘super slut’.”  
  
“Well… are you alright with that?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter either way, does it?” Belle frowned at her, “I mean, I know the truth, but if I had done that stuff and not gotten hurt or hurt someone else, then who should even care?”  
  
“I suppose…” Abigail shrugged, “You know where I stand, but as long as you’re okay, I’m okay. Just… tell me the truth, okay? Don’t let me find out stuff through the grapevine.”  
  
Belle felt a little knock to the stomach, guilt curling through her, but she managed a weak little smile, “You bet. Don’t worry about it: if you ask for it, I’ll tell the truth. Starting now.”  
  
“Deal.” Abbie smiled, relieved, and Belle didn’t know if she felt relieved or sickened by herself.  
  
That was, at least, some decent fine print. Maybe she should look into pre-law.


	2. Chapter 2

_I don’t know why Storybrooke U is such a breeding ground for bitchy gossip, but Ruby’s voice carried far and everyone heard it.  
  
So it was all over campus within a week that I was a dirty, filthy skank who - depending upon who was asked - had had sex with three guys at once in a hot tub, had banged a total stranger down an alleyway and caught an STD, or had slept with a police officer to keep from getting done on indecency charges for sucking someone else off in a car. _  
  
_I liked the last one: it was at least more intricate and less cliche than the others._  
  
 _So yeah, that was a fun week._  
  
 _At least everyone had stopped asking me if I was okay, or wondering about why Greg left. Now I was a campus slut to rival the worst sorority girls, and no one cared what the truth really was._  
  
 _No one cared that, actually, I’d never even had sex with Greg. He’d come out to me around the time we started college, and I’d spent a year being my best friend’s beard. So there was that._  
  
 _I suppose I was sick of being the girl who’d only ever had one not-very-affectionate boyfriend. Maybe that was why I didn’t give a shit when everyone watched me walking down the corridors, when people suddenly knew my name and said hi to me in classes._  
  
 _Maybe that was why I bought more low-cut t-shirts and went without tights with short skirts, and why suddenly my shoes were high heels more often than not despite my total lack of balance. If people wanted to see a shameless nympho, then that’s what they’d get._  
  
 _People only see you how they want to see you, anyway. And they seemed to like me an awful lot more now that I had my new reputation._  
  
 _I guess I was a bit naive back then. I thought everyone would be happy to stare at my chest and talk loudly behind my back. I didn’t think anyone would react badly: it was college, after all, we were all legal and young enough to enjoy it. I didn’t think anyone would call me out to my face._  
  
 _I was very, very wrong._  
  
 _This section has it’s own title: Four Interrogations In The Space Of Two Hours._  
  
—  
  
 Professor Gold leaned against the desk and folded his arms, as he waited for everyone to finish scribbling down the last point. His eyes were scanning the left side of the room, and so Belle was able to glance up to check the time without meeting his gaze.  
  
Gold was a bastard for looking right at her the moment she glanced up from her work, and meeting his eyes - especially now, with everyone talking about her - felt awkward.  
  
With the freedom to look a little longer without being seen, Belle was oddly struck by how well his suit fitted him, his shirtsleeves rolled up over wiry, toned forearms, the deep red bringing out the rich brown of his eyes.  
  
She stared only a moment, before glancing back down sharply and shaking her head to clear it: she had been declared a ‘super slut’ only a week ago, and here she was eyeing up her professor. Maybe Ruby was psychic or something.   
  
They were studying the Great Gatsby, and of course that week they covered the sexual undertones of the work. Sometimes, Belle honestly believed that the universe was playing her for laughs.  
  
“So,” Gold’s voice, low and almost drawling and Scottish, did little to snap her out of her staring, “We come to Myrtle Wilson’s death. The death of a major character is always a good point at which to evaluate their general presence in the novel, and their impact on events,” he eyed his class, “So that’s what this week’s essay topic will be: the impact and importance of Myrtle in the novel as a whole.”  
  
The class groaned, and Belle with them. It was an interesting topic, to be sure, but she just knew that her evaluation wouldn’t meet with Gold’s approval. “Would anyone like to start the discussion?” he asked, and was met with silence.  
  
Then, slowly, Ashley raised her hand, “Yes, Miss Boyd?”  
  
“Well…” she hesitated a moment, blonde curls shaking over her face, “I think Myrtle Wilson was, if you’ll excuse my language, a total whore.”  
  
“Oh?” Gold raised his eyebrows, “And so yours is a negative reading of her character? Anyone like to disagree with Ashley?”  
  
His eyes rested on Belle, and she could see that he knew she’d have something to say about that. The mocking little smirk on his lips was new, though, and she knew with utter certainty that he must have overheard Ruby in the corridor and probably every other story since. Fuck.  
  
She sighed: she would have defended the character anyway, even without everything else going on in her life, and she couldn’t help but dance to Gold’s tune. She raised her hand, and his eyes gleamed, “Yes, Belle?”  
  
“I think that that’s an unfair analysis, considering Myrtle’s circumstances.”  
  
“So you believe that the circumstances surrounding her actions excuse the wrongdoing itself?”  
  
“I think she was a poor woman, who knew the only way out of her situation was to perhaps act differently from the morals of her time.”  
  
“Of her time?” Ashley turned to her, scorn written all over her pretty face, “The woman was a total skank in any decade; she deserved everything she got.” She sniffed, looked down her nose at Belle, “But I suppose that’s a predictable opinion coming from a fellow slut.”  
  
Belle thought she might launch herself from her chair and slap the girl herself, but instead she just sat back, arms crossed, and said “And I suppose that’s a good point coming from an over-privileged tight-assed bitch.”  
  
Ashley gasped as if she’d been slapped, “You just wait until Professor Mills hears about this.” she hissed.  
  
“Fucking bite me.” Belle muttered, and instantly regretted it.  
  
“Alright, Miss Charmin, that’s more than enough.” Professor Gold sighed, “You can copy the notes from a fellow classmate, please collect your things and leave.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“No arguments. And see me in my office after class is finished, if you please. I will not have that kind of language in my class.”  
  
Belle blushed furiously as she gathered her things and - under Gold’s cold stare - hurried from the room. She was mortified, yes, but it was worse than that. She was so angry she could push someone in front of a bus. Hopefully Ashley Boyd.  
  
She swallowed hard, and counted to ten, before going and sitting on one of the seats outside Gold’s office to wait. There was no reason to go elsewhere: she’d only be late back, and then he’d be even angrier at her.  
  
She sat with her head in her hands, and rubbed her face furiously. She had the stupid urge to cry or die then and there or just to run home to her mother and never come back.   
  
She’d been yelled at and dismissed by her favourite teacher, who was known campus-wide magnificent bastard. She’d seen him chew out other students before for far less than swearing in class, and she didn’t take back a word she’d said, and yet it still felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.  
  
“Hey, Beauty, what’s up?” someone sat themselves down in the seat next to her, and she was greeted by a familiar scent of turpentine and old cloth.  
  
“Hatter?” she turned her head on her hands to see Jefferson smiling at her, “What’re you doing here?”  
  
“I thought I’d come and see you, but your roommate said you had class.” He shrugged, then frowned at her, taking in her less than happy expression, “Someone kill your bunny or something?”  
  
“Oh,” she sniffed, realised belatedly that she’d been crying like the child she apparently was, “No, I just… bitch in class decided my business was her business.”  
  
“I heard a whisper on the wind,” he nodded, thoughtfully, “Anyone need a visit from the Queen of Hearts?”  
  
She laughed, but it was wet and sniffly, “No, I can deal with it. Ashley had a point, anyway.”  
  
“Oh?” he raised his eyebrows, “What did she say?”  
  
“She called me a slut.” Belle said, flatly, and nodded “Which is fairly accurate these days, I suppose.”  
  
“Ah yes, the infamous one night stand with the whole football team,” he nodded, thoughtfully, “How’d that go, anyway? I heard Graham Hunter is hung like a horse.”  
  
She snorted, “Is that what you heard?”  
  
“Yeah,” he smirked, “Also that you’re pregnant and were seen hanging around the planned parenthood.”  
  
“I was getting condoms for Ruby,” she replied, “Cause she’s too scared to go herself. Probably because of rumours like that.”  
  
“So it isn’t true?”  
  
She gave him a look, “Come on, Hatter.”  
  
“What?” he held up his hands defensively, “I don’t know, you might have gone mad since Greg left, need some company?”  
  
“You’re the mad one, not me.” She replied, but she was smiling, so that was something. He’d been the Mad Hatter to her since the senior year school play, a kind of fairy tale mash-up called The Enchanted Forest. She’d been Beauty from Beauty and the Beast; he’d been the Hatter in Wonderland.  
  
Her little sister, a sophomore at the time, had been double-cast as Alice and as a random knight in the scenes requiring them. Despite Belle’s insistence that she was certain Jeff was gay, Emma had hung off his every word all year. She still blushed when Jefferson stopped by the house and called her his Alice.  
  
“And you’re the brave Beauty,” he countered, teasingly, “So go deny this bullshit and move on with your life.”  
  
“I… I can’t.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I kind of… started it?” his eyes widened, and she shook her head, “No, no I didn’t, but I let it spread and didn’t stop it. Ruby declared me a super-slut about a week back and it kind of escalated from there.”  
  
“And why’d you let that happen?” he frowned at her, “I mean, if it’s making trouble for you like this?”  
  
She sighed, “I don’t know… I just… fuck…” she buried her head back in her hands, “I kind of… I like people remembering me for being more than just one half of Belle-and-Greg, you know? I mean, I don’t have a problem with promiscuity as a rule, people can do what they want, who am I to judge? So why should I care what people say when I know it’s a lie?”  
  
“Because you’re sat crying in the hallway, maybe?” Jefferson suggested.  
  
“That’s not because Ashley Boyd decided to be a bitch,” she argued back, “That’s because I responded wrong and got my ass kicked by my professor. Who I’d like not to hate me, if it’s at all possible.”  
  
“Well, good luck with that.” Jefferson smiled, and she smiled back, a little tiredly.  
  
“Where’ve you been lately, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject, “I never see you around anymore.”  
  
“Oh, you know,” he shrugged, but there was something else in his eyes, something angry and dark, “Trashcans, the swimming pool, I think the rose bushes behind the Delta Iota Kappa house one time.”  
  
“Really?” she turned to face him properly, and noticed for the first time the shadowy bruise to his cheekbone, the little cuts on his hands, “Oh my god, Hatter, what happened?”  
  
“Turns out the Deltas are rampant homophobes. And apparently stylish hats and scarves are a mark of homosexuality rather than having some fucking fashion sense.”  
  
“They jumped you.” It wasn’t a question.  
  
“A few times, actually. The library is, at least, safe until midnight when Grace can come and walk me home. Apparently being with a girl - even my twin sister - is enough to stop them from coming after me.”  
  
“Why don’t you report them for hate crimes or something?”  
  
“I don’t think it works if they only think you’re gay.” He gave a tight little smile at her wide-eyed surprise, “You’re not the only one people lie about.”  
  
She gave a little snort of laughter, and he frowned at her, “I’m sorry! It’s just… oh, god, we’re a right pair, aren’t we?”  
  
“Hey, at least I’m not spreading my own rumour!” he protested, “Unlike some I could mention. It’s really fucked up that you want people to believe that you’re a massive skank.”  
  
“Better than being the mopey little nobody in the corner.” She replied, “People actually notice me now, you know? Guys smile at me rather than barging past on their way to the men’s room.”  
  
“All because of this one little lie.”  
  
“Yep. I was fine with all of it until Ashley Boyd decided to stick her stupid little blonde head in.”  
  
“Well, she’s a stuck-up bitch, and even if you were a total whore I’d have nothing but love for you.” He gave her a sideways hug, and she rested her head on his shoulder a moment, drawing comfort from the truth of that.  
  
“So wait…” she narrowed her eyes at him as they broke away, “If you’re straight… this hasn’t all been one big plan to get in my pants, has it? Because you might be the only one here who knows that’s not happening.”  
  
He laughed at her, “Belle,” he shook his head, “Trust me that any thought of attraction was gone the moment you threw up in my top hat opening night. I think Grace has a better chance, and she’s my blood sister.”  
  
“Alright,” she grumbled, “Don’t have to rub it in.”  
  
“Disappointed?” he teased, standing and giving a mocking little bow, “Were you holding out some hope?”  
  
“Ew!” she swatted at his forearm, wrinkling her nose like a child, “Don’t even joke about such things.”  
  
“You started it, Beauty.”  
  
“Then let me finish it, _Hatter_.” She replied, before being interrupted by the creak of the classroom door and a sudden rush of chattering voices. She glanced away for no more than half a second, but when she looked back Jefferson was gone.  
  
He melted into walls, that boy; she sighed and shook her head.  
  
She wondered if her newfound infamy could help him out at all. But her train of thought was interrupted by the office door opening, and a brisk Scottish accent “You can come in now, Miss Charmin.”  
  
He rarely called students by their surnames, at least not his favourites. Belle had counted herself among those he liked best, despite his dislike of some of her opinions: twice in one day as ‘Miss Charmin’ meant he must be pissed at her.   
  
A wave of stubbornness rushed through her: if he was going to be an asshole about this, then so was she. He was, after all, one Lit professor in a whole faculty, and his class was just one of her course credits. If he decided to hate her for a fight she didn’t even start, then she had no reason to give a damn.  
  
“Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair facing his desk, and she did as she was asked. His office was darker than some of the other professors’, mostly from clutter and large, old fashioned furniture crammed into every available space. His blind was half-down despite it being a grey, October day outside. It gave the room the feeling of a cave, of a dragon’s den, and she thought it could be warm and cozy under the right circumstances.  
  
Professor Gold, staring her down over the table with his hands folded in front of his face, eyes hard, was not the right circumstance.  
  
“You understand why you’re here?” he began, and she nodded, resisting the temptation to snark back something about ‘ _no, of course not, I assumed you meant to give me a gold star for good behaviour_.’ “Good. Good thing. I won’t have to explain, then, how vastly inappropriate that language was in front of the class.”  
  
His voice was hard, sharp, and Belle felt the restraining strings inside her snap. She had a sharp temper, as her papa put it, and she was bloody well going to use it, “I would like to point out, sir, that I didn’t start it.”  
  
“Oh, so we’re playing playground games now, I see,” he smiled sarcastically at her, and she almost winced at the bite in his voice, “She started it, did she?”  
  
“Ashley Boyd called me a slut, Professor, and I don’t understand how that itself was appropriate.”  
  
“And it justified a response, did it? One word from her and five from you? Your essays are more succinct, at least.”  
  
She didn’t know how to respond to that, so finally she sighed, and said, “I’m sorry for swearing like that in class. It was rude and inappropriate.”  
  
He looked a little startled by her sudden capitulation, “Well, thank you, Miss Charmin.”  
  
“I am not, however, sorry for the sentiment, or the timing, or the feelings of the person it was aimed at. The words themselves were out of place. That’s it.”  
  
“You’d make a fine lawyer, dearie, with that kind of small print.”  
  
She smirked at him, riding high on the feeling that he’d said the worst he could, and the body-blows had glanced off her like nothing. Perhaps because his eyes glittered with something like amusement, and she was enjoying arguing with him more than she felt she ought to.  
  
“I’ll have to start getting higher grades than B-minuses for that to happen.” She countered, wondering if she could take advantage of this odd little moment to get a proper answer.  
  
He looked a little uneasy, and then he sighed, “I am sorry your grades are not to your satisfaction, dearie.”  
  
“You gave Ava Tillman an A last week, and I know for a fact that she dashed it off the night before.”  
  
“Belle-“ He tried to cut her off, but she was caught in her flow, and with her newfound courage she wasn’t willing to stop yet.  
  
“And I know my essays are good, I know it, and I did fine with Professor Grimm last year, so I want to know what you find so wrong with my arguments.”  
  
“I’m trying to explain, dearie, if you’d care to listen. Or are we back on the playground again?” He raised an eyebrow, and Belle shut her mouth. “Better, alright: your readings are some of the best in the class, you know that. But your opinions lack… depth. You shout them at me; there’s no subtlety or reasoning behind it.”  
  
“I have a chance at an A, then?” she asked, hopefully, and he spread his hands  
  
“If you stop having cat-fights in the middle of my classroom, then I have no doubts.”  
  
“She bloody started it.” She grumbled, and hoped immediately afterward that he wouldn’t count that as a second offence.  
  
“Ashley Boyd…” he regarded Belle for a moment, and then nodded almost imperceptibly, “If she gets a C-minus in this class by the end of the semester, I’ll know she cheated on the test.”  
  
Belle let out a little laugh of surprise, “I’d offer to help her out except… well, she’d probably need dousing in holy water after.”  
  
Gold laughed, a small but entirely genuine little chuckle, and Belle found herself thinking that it would be worth getting thrown out of every damn class on her timetable, if it would make him smile like that. She squashed that idea down mercilessly.  
  
“Holiness is over-rated, dearie, in my experience. As are those who seek it.”  
  
She wasn’t sure how to answer that; his eyes were too intense, fixed on her, his smile thoughtful and almost… approving. “Right.” She nodded.  
  
“Anyway, you doubtless have classes to get to, so I’ll let you be on your way. I hope we understand each other in terms of appropriate behaviour now.”  
  
Her mind darted for two unsupervised seconds to a very interesting, heated place. But he was talking about the swearing, “Perfectly.” She nodded, stood and was about to leave when something - something she’d been pissed about, before he started smiling and being nice to her again - flashed back into her head, “Although…”  
  
He looked up from organising the papers on his desk, “Yes, Belle?”  
  
“I make no promises if someone starts calling me things like that again. She calls me a slut and all bets are off.”  
  
After all, ‘slut’ was easily as bad as ‘tight-assed bitch’, and yet it had been Belle hauled in for this little chat. It didn’t seem fair to moderate her behaviour when Ashley Boyd could say whatever she damn well pleased.  
  
“I will step in earlier next time, you have my word.” His ire seemed to have cooled entirely, and he almost looked a little apologetic.  
  
She nodded, “Then you have mine. I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor.”  
  
“Yes, see you tomorrow, Belle.”  
  
He smiled one last time, soft and warm and gentle, and her heart was racing when she left the office. She had no idea how she’d gone from seething to blushing in less than ten minutes, but she groaned as she threw herself back against the wall, and ran a hand down over her face.  
  
She wandered off down the hallway in a daze, trying and failing to keep from remembering every moment of the meeting. Somehow, admiration for a good teacher had grown into a full-scale crush in less than ten minutes, most of which was spent bickering, and she had no idea at all how that had happened.  
  
She nearly crashed headlong into someone else, coming the other way.  
  
She was hit with a wave of expensive perfume, apple-scented and overly sweet. Professor Mills was a woman Belle had heard more rumours of than anything else, but what she’d heard she didn’t like.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said, quickly, “I wasn’t looking.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” Professor Mills’ smile was too friendly, her eyes black and gleaming, “I was hoping to bump into you.”  
  
“Me?” Belle felt her stomach tighten, and she had had enough of talking for one day. Ashley, then Jefferson, and then Gold, and somewhere between the accusations and the understanding she had lost the ability to give a damn. But apparently, her day wasn’t over yet.  
  
“Of course,” Professor Mills shrugged her shoulders under her expensive dark suit, “You are, after all, a source of distress for one of my students.”  
  
Ashley had run straight to her mentor, then. Bloody wonderful.  
  
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Belle knew that it was insulting, to pretend not to know this woman, but then she didn’t feel like playing nice. Regina Mills was about to insult her, she had no doubt of that, and for all that she was a student and Mills a professor, Belle didn’t back down from a fight. Her third of the day, this one, and that was still holding true.  
  
“Oh, how silly of me,” Mills’ eyes flashed dangerously, but she held out a cold, pale hand for Belle to shake, “I’m Regina Mills; I teach political science. I also run the Student Ethics Committee, and it is in that capacity that I feel the need to have a word.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry, Professor,” Belle ducked around so, she had her back to the rest of the corridor, ready to flee, “But I’m not on the Committee, and have already been reprimanded for what I said to Ashley, if that’s your problem.”  
  
Regina’s lip curled, “My _problem_ , Miss Charmin, is that there is one more rotten apple poisoning this school.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Belle laughed: this woman had some nerve, openly insulting a student without provocation. “What?”  
  
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Regina’s smile was pure malice, “Word of your exploits reaches far, young lady, and I’m worried for the damage it could cause.”  
  
“Last I checked, Professor, it’s a free country. You teach polysci, right? First amendment protects everyone’s right to say whatever they want.”  
  
She was openly mouthing off to a teacher, for the second time that day, and all she wanted right now was a hot chocolate the way her mother made it - cinnamon on top and frothy - and a lie down. But instead, her spine was straight, and she could barely even feel her shaking legs and pounding heart.  
  
Snark couldn’t get you expelled, after all, and Regina would hate her either way.  
  
She also had a sneaking suspicion that Gold would fight in her corner, if it came down to it, and he could defeat Regina with a snap of his fingers.  
  
“My current issue isn’t with people gossiping, although it is a grave problem with this school. Your actions, Miss Charmin, are irresponsible in the extreme, not to mention sinful and decadent.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Belle shook her head, “But isn’t my behaviour my responsibility? I am not addicted to something dangerous, besides the internet on occasion, and I’m not pregnant or breaking any laws. So I’d ask you to leave the judgement to whatever higher power you believe in, and leave me alone.”  
  
It was a pretty speech, and she wished the moment she’d said it that she’d left it alone. Gold was one thing: she respected him, and she felt he probably felt the same for her. And even if he didn’t, he was at least a decent human being.   
  
Regina, however, could cause significant problems, and here Belle was snarking back and being openly disrespectful. She wondered if perhaps Jefferson had managed to slip her something without her noticing.  
  
 “There may be a higher power to watch for such things in the world at large,” Regina hissed, her voice still sweetly murderous,  “But here in Storybrooke, it is my job to stop the spread of evil, Miss Charmin.”  
  
“Then I’d start with the Delta Iota Kappas,” Belle snapped back, “They’re violent bullies, by the sound of it.”  
  
“I have other appointments, unfortunately,” Regina replied, after a moment, “But think on what I’ve said. Some behaviour is beyond a joke.”  
  
“Yes, some behaviour is.” Belle nodded, and waited for the other woman to turn on her heel and march away before doing the same.  
  
She was shaking from head to toe, and not for the first time in her life she wished herself capable of keeping her mouth shut and not getting into a fight. But that had never been in her nature.  
  
She turned once, and saw Regina enter Gold’s office. Her heart sank in her chest, and she resolved to get very, very drunk in her dorm room to forget the whole day.


	3. Chapter 3

_Regina had heard of me: I was famous, and in some ways I still am. And this was even before the real acceleration started, when I was just one of many girls on campus known for somewhat… easy virtue._  
  
 _I was, I think the first girl she’d ever spoken to like that who gave the same kind of treatment right back. I just refuse to be spoken to like I’m nothing, especially from judgemental bitches who don’t know a thing about me, my life, or what I do in my free time._  
  
 _I didn’t think before I spoke._  
  
 _Spoiler alert: a recurring theme in this story._  
  
 _I found out (much, much later) what Professor Gold and Regina discussed in their meeting that day. Apparently, it was about me. Better: Gold was playing back up for everything I did, and Regina left looking like she’d sucked a lemon._  
  
 _I had no idea at the time that he gave a damn beyond me swearing in class and being a bit blunt in my essays. But that was about the time when I started wishing I really was a total skank, just because I thought that being a bit promiscuous would make it okay to flirt openly with a teacher. Even though it couldn’t come to anything, I would have traded almost anything to have him smile like that again._  
  
 _Still, after the incident with Ashley, I thought I needed to go talk to Ruby._   
  
—  
  
“So I heard you launched yourself over a table and full body-tackled Ashley Boyd, and called her a fucking whore.”  
  
Ruby grinned expectantly, practically bouncing with excitement. They were sat on a blanket on the grass outside the building where they’d had their last class, ostensibly studying. Their books were certainly laid out as if to indicate study, at any rate.   
  
Instead, Ruby was eating ice cream out of a little pot, and Belle was sprawled across the blanket, arm over her forehead, staring at the grey sky.  
  
Belle turned her head to stare at her friend, frowning, “No, I’ve never full body-tackled anyone. Well, except Emma, but I was seven.”  
  
“Yeah right,” Ruby snickered, not believing a word, “That girl deserved anything you gave her. Did she really throw a crucifix at you and threaten to add holy water?”  
  
“No, she just called me a slut.”  
  
“While throwing holy water?”  
  
“No!” Belle groaned, and returned her eyes to the clouds above them. It felt like rain was coming, although it was unseasonably warm for Maine in October.  
  
“You’re such a freaking badass these days.” Ruby said, “It’s awesome. Who knew all you needed was to fuck around a bit?”  
  
“I told you, I didn’t ‘fuck around’, okay? I slept with one guy, one weekend, one time.”  
  
“Yeah, sure, of course,” Ruby nodded, and winked, as if promising to keep a secret, “Keep up that line, honey.”  
  
“That was what I told you the first time!” Belle protested, “Are you listening to me at all?”  
  
“Alright, fine, you slept with this Cameron guy once. This random friend of Abigail Midason’s who you’d never met before, and you spent a whole weekend in bed with him. Shouldn’t you be going all apeshit wanting to hook up with him again?”  
  
“No, not really,” Belle shook her head, “It was a nice enough time, I guess. Nothing special.”  
  
“But he was your first since Greg, right?” Ruby took another spoonful of her ice-cream, “Shouldn’t you be projecting a whole load of sexual frustration and angst onto him?”  
  
“Maybe, if I was the kind to eat Ben and Jerry’s and watch Love Actually and wonder if he was going to call me today. But I’m not. So it was a nice weekend and now it’s over and I don’t care if I see him again.”  
  
She just needed Ruby to drop it: she’d invented the guy, for God’s sake, but her lie had gone too far, now, and there was no going back.  
  
“Wow, that’s… wow.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” She shifted uncomfortably, desperate to change the subject, “Do you know Jefferson Madden, by any chance?”  
  
“Wait, the gay guy who always hangs out in the art rooms?”  
  
“He’s not gay.”  
  
“I hope you haven’t got a thing for him, Belle, cause no straight guy wears a scarf that well.”  
  
“He’s not gay, Ruby.” She snapped.  
  
“Alright, jeez, fine. What about him?”  
  
“He’s getting a load of trouble from some frat guys, doesn’t Pete have friends in the Delta Iota Kappa house?”  
  
“Yeah, a couple. What they do?”  
  
“Jumped him a few nights back. Now they keep throwing shit at him and shouting things.”  
  
“Ugh, bastards,” Ruby rolled her eyes, and for some reason Belle felt like smacking her.  
  
“Yeah, you think?”   
  
 Ruby looked at her, frowning in something like hurt, “I’ll mention it to Pete and the guys, don’t worry about it! They might be able to work some magic, I guess.”  
  
“Thanks.” Her ire faded, and Belle was reminded - seeing the sincerity in her friend’s eyes - exactly why she was friends with Ruby. She could be loud, needlessly rebellious and demanding at times, but she was also a very good person, when she wanted to be.  
  
“Archie’s always saying about altruism and helping people and shit anyway,” Ruby affected boredom, examining her crimson nails absently, “Better put some of that learning to good use.”  
  
“I thought you were totally head over heels for Pete?” Belle sat up, rested on her elbows, “All sweetly dim and floppy-haired and ‘I would do anything for you, baby’?”  
  
Ruby gaped at her, but she was grinning as she swatted her arm, “Shut up, Pete’s… Pete’s great, you know? But he’s kind of… talking to him is like being sixteen. Archie’s older. He knows about things.”  
  
Unbidden, the image of another older man slipped through Belle’s mind. She’d say the same things about Gold, but while it was expected for girls to crush on hot professors, she didn’t think that it was right to start daydreaming about him right now. Not with yesterday’s encounter so fresh in her mind: she’d say or do something stupid.  
  
“Things, huh? Things I’m supposed to be expert in?” she waggled her eyebrows, and Ruby giggled. That was something Belle did like about everyone, even her friends, believing these rumours: she could feel like the older sister for once during sex talks.  
  
“Hello, ladies.” They were interrupted, and Belle looked up to see a very familiar face smiling down at her.  
  
“Hey, Archie!” she greeted him with a friendly smile, and watched Ruby suddenly go as red as her namesake. “Wanna join us?”  
  
“Uh, no thanks,” The TA brushed her off, his attention going straight to Ruby, “I just saw you and thought I’d ask if you’d read the next chapters yet, or if you needed a little more help with them?”  
  
Belle raised her eyebrows at Ruby, who shot her a warning look before smiling, “No, not yet. It’s a bit confusing… is the usual time alright?”  
  
“Sure!” Archie looked way too excited about a study session, and Belle’s suspicions deepened, “I’ll see you at eight.”  
  
“It’s a date.” Ruby slipped her ice cream spoon between her lips and smiled, and Belle saw Archie nearly lose his composure. For a TA, older and supposedly wiser than they were, he was certainly easy to fluster.  
  
He hurried away, and Belle turned back to Ruby, “Study sessions? With Archie Hopper? Bitch, you have a boyfriend!”  
  
“I’m not married, and he’s not here.”  
  
Belle was amazed at the gossip around the Storybrooke U campus: one declaration in a hallway labelled her a super-slut, and yet Ruby could flirt all she liked with barely a whisper.   
  
It would be infuriating, if Belle didn’t enjoy just a little bit the feeling of being the one who was noticed, for a change.  
  
—-  
  
 _I should make a mental note: whenever something feels good because it puts you above someone else, stop doing it._  
  
 _Ruby’s still barely speaking to me. But then, she’s not alone in that._  
  
 _That week went by fast, until it was Thursday and we had Friday off, for some reason I can’t remember anymore. I went home for the long weekend, not really wanting to put my new infamy to the test at any wild parties anytime soon._  
  
 _My family should really come with a disclaimer. They’re simultaneously the most awesome and the strangest people I will ever have the honour to know._  
  
 _I’m not kidding: my parents have different names for each other. And not just normal stuff like “baby” and “sweetheart”, oh no.  Myy mama’s a snarky bitch, and she and papa met when he nearly hit her with his car, so she called his approach to catching women ‘Charming’. When she heard my dad’s surname is ‘Charmin’ (actually pronounced Shar-min), then the nickname stuck._  
  
 _For his part, he pointed out that her hair’s black, her skin’s unnaturally pale, and she always wears red lipstick. Also: random foodstuffs can make her sleepy. So he decided, after realising that ‘Charming’ would stick, that he’d call her his ‘Snow White’._  
  
 _They’ve been married two decades. They refer to each other by Disney names._  
  
 _This should sufficiently prepare you._  
  
—  
  
“Hey, honey,” Belle’s mother met her at the door, and within moments she was enveloped in a massive hug.   
  
“Hey mama, you got a room free?” Belle asked over Mary Margaret’s shoulder, and the arms around her middle relaxed enough that she could be held at arms length.  
  
“Of course! I think the shed’s free, if that’s acceptable? Or there’s always the basement, but we’ve had some rat problems…”  
  
“Funny.” Belle nodded, hauling her suitcase across the threshold.  
  
“No,” Mary Margaret corrected, “Just preparing you, sweetheart. One of these days your papa will’ve already done something with your room, and then the shed won’t look so unappealing.”  
  
“The second my room stops being my room, you’re getting an angry letter.”  
  
“That fancy college finally teaching you to read and write, then?” James appeared around the kitchen door, a mixing bowl and spoon in his arms, “I was wondering what we paid those fees for.”  
  
“Readin’ ‘ritin’ and ‘rithmatic.” Belle drawled, giving her father a brief hug, “All the basics.”  
  
Mary Margaret laughed, “Just take your suitcase upstairs, dinner’ll be in an hour.”  
  
“Great,” Belle smiled, “Emma home?”  
  
“In her room, I think, with one of her mentor kids.”  
  
“Cool.” Belle picked up her suitcase and hauled it up the stairs to her old bedroom, parking it by her wardrobe. She would only be here two nights: it wasn’t worth the effort to unpack.   
  
She went down the hall, and knocked on her sister’s door, and received a blank “What?” as reply.  
  
“There’s no sock on the doorknob, so I’m assuming you’re decent?” Belle called.  
  
“Just come in already, loser!” Emma called, and Belle threw the door open.  
  
“Honey, I’m home!” Belle called, and Emma just raised an eyebrow.   
  
“I can see that.” Emma looked her up and down, one eyebrow raised, and if Belle weren’t her sister she’d have completely missed the tiny smile, and the happiness in the girl’s eyes to see her home.  
  
“Oh, good, at least you’re not blind.” She snarked back, “Who’s this?” Belle smiled at the small boy sat opposite Emma on the bed, holding a few playing cards to his chest. He was bird-thin and dark haired, frowning in concentration, cards clutched as if they contained the secrets of the universe.  
  
“This is Henry. I’m trying to teach him poker, but he’s cheating.”  
  
“I’m not cheating!” Henry protested, “I’m just winning.”  
  
“At ten.” Emma frowned, “Kid, it’s not normal to be good at this at your age.”  
  
“She used to say the same about me,” Belle confided, “I kicked her ass all over the place at Monopoly, and she accused me of moving her counter when she wasn’t looking.”  
  
“But I saw you!”  
  
Belle smirked, “Not even close to being the point.” She turned back to Henry, “I’m Belle, it’s lovely to meet you.”  
  
To her surprise, Henry jumped to his feet, and swept a slightly clumsy little bow, “It’s nice to meet you too.”  
  
She giggled, shot a look to Emma, who just smiled and shrugged. Belle curtseyed, tugging at the sides of her jeans, “Enchanted, I’m sure.”  
  
“Okay, now you’re both acting crazy,” Emma rolled her eyes, “Are we stuck with you all weekend?”  
  
“Afraid so.” Belle nodded, hands in her pockets now that her curtseying was behind her, “Long weekend at college, thought I’d pop home and make sure you were all still alive.”  
  
She said the same thing to her parents, when the subject came up at dinner after Henry had gone home. Unfortunately, they were more interested in specifics than Emma had been.  
  
“You were home two weekends back as well.” James said, “They not feeding you in Storybrooke?”  
  
“No one makes pie the way you do, papa.” She smiled, and then looked at the others at the table, “And you’d all swear to that, if asked? I was here the whole time the weekend before last?”  
  
“Of course, Belle,” Mary Margaret frowned, “Why? The mob finally catch up with you?”  
  
“Are they fitting you for cement shoes?” James chimed in.  
  
“You guys are weirdos, you know that, right?” Belle giggled, “Anyway, no. No, it’s just… some people may think that I was elsewhere, so at least you could set them straight?”  
  
“Why?” Emma asked, “Where’d they think you were?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” Belle brushed her off, “Just… I was here. Helping with homework and mowing the lawn and things. It has the benefit of being true.”  
  
“As opposed to…” Mary Margaret was looking at her, hard, and Belle almost crumbled under her mother’s gaze. For someone so fond of cardigans and ballet flats, Mary Margaret Charmin was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be.  
  
“Nowhere.” Belle said, quickly. There was no need for her family to know what people were saying, not yet anyway. She knew they’d believe her when she denied it, but she’d like it not to come to that.  
  
“Hmm,” Mary Margaret kept frowning, and Belle wilted a little. Especially since Emma was mimicking her mother, and the pair of them together were almost too much to bear. “Charming,” she said, her eyes never leaving Belle, “I think our daughter is lying to us.”  
  
“I think she’s hiding the truth, Snow,” James corrected, “It’s a little different.”  
  
“Dishonesty doesn’t run in the family. I wonder where she learnt it…”  
  
“…Probably on the streets, with all the cuss words and slang.”  
  
“I’m adopted,” Belle pointed out, “Even if you were a pack of liars I wouldn’t have inherited it.”  
  
“You’re also Australian,” Emma said, unwilling to be left out of the Belle-baiting, “So we don’t know what could have gone into making you.”  
  
“We love you all the same, dear,” Mary Margaret assured her, seeming to have sensed a line in the sand somewhere, “Even if it turns out you’re descended from aliens, we’ll still love you.”  
  
“That’s comforting,” Belle muttered.  
  
“Also, we chose you.” James added, “Whereas this one just kind of happened.” He gestured to Emma, “God knows what we did to end up with her.”  
  
Emma just stuck out her tongue, “I’m a miracle child, and you know it.”  
  
“Of course, dear,” Mary Margaret patted her arm, comfortingly, “Of course.”  
  
Belle snickered, “At what point did we start showing love through verbal abuse?”  
  
“Oh, about when you started school.” Mary Margaret replied, “You do know that if you actually need to talk to us you can, right?”  
  
“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”  
  
And she did know: she could be sleeping around for real, could have done everything people speculated, and Mary Margaret would just smile and tell her she was maybe being a little silly, and give her a hug. James would then take the shotgun he’d bought at a garage sale once and go after anyone who’d made her miserable.  
  
The fact that he’d never had any idea of how to use it was neither here nor there.  
  
They ate the rest of the meal without incident, and Belle found it quite nice to go to sleep in her old bedroom, without Abbie wanting to talk about Fred, or Ruby texting at an obscene hour.  
  
The next afternoon, she was merrily defeating Emma at _Call of Duty_ when there was a knock on the door.  
  
“Belle?” Mary Margaret’s voice came from the hallway, “There is a man here with his hat in his hands!”  
  
Belle paused the game, and ran to the door, “Hatter?”  
  
“Hey, Beauty, can I come in? Your mom seems a little less than keen.”  
  
“The last time you came over, young man, I ended up passed out on my own sofa.” Mary Margaret objected.  
  
“To be fair, mama,” Belle said, “He warned you not to make tea Irish.”  
  
Mary Margaret just frowned at her, “I’m not a lightweight, you know.”  
  
Belle snorted, “You and whiskey lead to sleepytimes. This we know.”  
  
“I have my eye on you.” Mary Margaret warned Jefferson, and he nodded, solemnly.  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“Good.” She gave one last warning glare, and disappeared back into the kitchen.  
  
Jefferson came all the way inside, and closed the door, “Place hasn’t changed, has it?”  
  
“Not really.” Belle stuck her hands in her pockets, “What do you want, Hatter? You could just see me on campus, you know.”  
  
“I need to talk to you. Without listening walls.”  
  
“My room? It’s at least private in there-“ she was cut off mid-sentence by her sister.  
  
“Hatter!” Emma cried from the living room door, and Jefferson was across the room in a moment, hugging her tight.  
  
“My dearest Alice, how are you?” Emma was giggling and smiling like Belle rarely saw her, and she wondered if her sister had ever really gotten over her fifteen-year-old crush.   
  
“School sucks, my friends suck, and I’m generally just waiting for High School to end.”  
  
Jefferson laughed, and turned to Belle, his arm still wrapped around Emma’s shoulders, “She really is one of us, isn’t she?”  
  
“I don’t know, I was fairly well-adjusted in high school.” Belle smirked, and Jefferson tightened his arm around her sister.  
  
“She lies, little Alice: she never left the library.” He confided, and Emma giggled again. Emma never giggled: she was the most deadpan, sarcastic teenager Belle ever had met. And that was saying something.  
  
“You came to talk to me, right?” Belle put her hand on her hip, “Speak now or get your impeccably well-tailored ass out of my childhood home.”  
  
Jefferson bowed his head and gestured to the stairs, “Lead the way, Beauty dear.”  
  
Belle was certain she didn’t imagine the odd frown on Emma’s face, the little sigh, when Jefferson broke away from her and followed Belle upstairs.   
  
She sat herself down on her bed, as Jefferson shut the door behind him, “Alright, what’s up?”   
  
“I was thinking about what you were saying. About what people think and everything.”  
  
“Oh, about how everyone thinking I had a raunchy four-way down an alleyway has made my life easier?”  
  
“Yeah, that.”  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“I was… fuck, this is awkward. I was… wondering if you’d help me do the same?”  
  
“I could get Ruby to call you a super-slut in the hallway if you’d like?” Belle suggested, but Jefferson didn’t even smile.  
  
“Come on, who would believe her? Everyone thinks I’m gay as the sunrise.”  
  
“So? Tell them yourself.”  
  
“No one is going to believe me either. Not without… proof?” he raised his eyebrows at her, willing her to catch on, and the moment that the penny dropped she jumped from her seat and stepped back.  
  
“Oh no no no no no,” she shook her head, hard, not believing he could be suggesting this, “No way in hell, no. I’m not- no!”  
  
“Well, thanks for that vote of confidence. Trust me that you’re not my type either.” He snarked back.  
  
“You know, you know, that I haven’t…. That it’s all lies.”  
  
“Yeah, I know, your only boyfriend really did play for the other team, and everything else is spun out of thin air. I know. I just need… something.”  
  
“I’m not sleeping with you. If you’re suggesting that then you can get out right the hell now.”  
  
“You’ve done it for real, though, right? You’ve pretended to be fucking someone to stop people thinking they’re gay. You did it for Greg.”  
  
“You want more lies, then?” she sighed, and sat herself back down, “What? We make out in a corridor and ask Ruby to gossip some? Make sex noises in a closet?”  
  
“Something like that.” He still had his hat in his hands, shifting the rim around and around through his fingers, “I just… I can’t be thrown into another dumpster. Something’s gotta give.”  
  
“But why me? Why not get a real girlfriend?”  
  
“No one ever crushes on me, come on.” Jefferson scoffed, taking a seat beside her, “I’m every girl’s gay best friend, and I’m not even into guys.”  
  
She bit her lip to keep from mentioning Emma. Her sister was eighteen: she could confess her feelings all on her own.   
  
“What do you want from me, Hatter?” She sighed, “I’m not interested in fake-dating again. I’d like a real boyfriend one of these days.”  
  
“Just… no guy on campus can honestly claim to have hooked up with you. They all want to now, but… if you decided to fuck me, then that’d give me a boost. I can work from there.”  
  
“Alright. Alright.” She rubbed her hands over her face, suddenly completely wiped, “Fine. But it’s got to be big, public. I’m not going halfway on this. And you will owe me so, so big for this. Like, you owe me your firstborn kid, if I ask for it.”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course, _thank you_!” He caught her around the waist and hugged her, hard. She hugged him back, head on his shoulder, and wondered if this was the worst deal she’d ever struck.


	4. Chapter 4

_It was, by the way. Worst idea ever. I’d gone from fake-slut to fake-prostitute in one moment of weakness, and even now I’m willing to blame Jefferson Madden’s puppy-eyes for everything that happened next. Bastard._  
  
 _Abbie was having a party at her boyfriend’s place that weekend, and I’d been invited along with pretty much everyone else she knew. Abbie is still quiet, kind, blonde and bright in that way you can’t even dislike. She’s popular, and always will be, because she’s someone you genuinely want good things for. You can’t help it._  
  
 _So she was having a party, her first co-hosting with Fred, and suddenly I had a date._  
  
 _I’d never had a date to a party, not since Greg. And he’d spend more time with his guy friends, or passed out on the sofa, drunk from trying not to eye up his guy friends, than hanging with me._  
  
 _And see, there’s a reason everyone always assumed Jefferson was gay. He’s genuinely very good, respectful, and well-meaning to girls. He doesn’t flirt without intention or provocation, and understands emotional boundaries, even if he does tend to get rather up-close-and-personal in conversation. He’s well-dressed. He smells nice. He can hold a conversation about America’s Next Top Model._  
  
 _He once took me shoe-shopping, and I swear I’ve never done better for high heels in my life. Come to think of it, that shopping trip was the one before Abbie’s party. We bought a very short red dress, and some very tall stilettos, and I wasn’t allowed to do more than try things on and trust him._  
  
 _I mentioned a few times that this wouldn’t help his image as a rampant homosexual. He didn’t seem to care._  
  
 _Jefferson never really did give a shit what people thought. He genuinely did just want to get himself a girlfriend he actually liked, and not get thrown in any more rosebushes by frat guys._  
  
 _He was one of my closest friends: that’s why I let him buy a night of fake-sex with me._  
  
 _I can’t explain the rest of this story with any real justification, but that I can honestly say was about friendship, far more than personal gain._  
  
—  
  
The house was already heaving when Belle and Jefferson arrived. Someone at the door, already slurring and stumbling, warned very seriously about how Abbie had invited adults as well as students: Regina Mills and her gang were there, as well as some of the TAs and younger professors.  
  
So the underage students were mostly almost-sober, with the threat of being caught by their lecturers hanging over their heads. It was, therefore, a little easier for Belle and Jefferson to pretend to have been drinking earlier: most of those who were hammered had done it through pre-drinking.  
  
“Hey, Abs?” Belle slurred, and thanked her high school acting classes, “Abbbieeeee?”  
  
“Belle?” Abbie gave her a hug, then pulled back, “Have you been drinking already? You look a little out of it.”  
  
“Yeah, we might’ve had a few pre-party drinks. And then a few more for you know… well, we had it lying around. Anyway, this is Jefferson.” She pushed Jefferson forward, and he swayed a little as he shook Abbie’s hand.  
  
“Yeah, we had an art class together last year, I think.” Abbie smiled, “Is he okay?”  
  
“Jeff was just wondering if he ah… could go lie down someplace… private? With me? If you know what I mean?”  
  
She hoped to God that Abbie, Ethics Committee member that she was, would find it in her to just let the sinners sin. “Ah… yeah, alright. There’s a spare room down the hall and to the left.”  
  
“Thank you so very much, good lady.” Jefferson bowed and kissed Abbie’s hand, and then reeled away, his arm around Belle’s shoulders.  
  
Belle could feel the tremors of scandal already rushing through the people around them. August Booth muttered something to one of his hipster buddies, and left and right Belle could feel barely-concealed eyes watching them as they headed for the bedroom.  
  
She was a little nervous: as if this was going to be her actual first time, with actual nakedness and touching and things.  
  
Instead, she simply took her underwear off as they closed the door, and hug them over the keyhole. So no one could see them jumping on the bed and shouting at each other, instead of frantically kissing and grinding between the sheets.  
  
Jefferson watched her a little wide-eyed, “This’d be somehow less awkward if the rumours were true.” He muttered.  
  
She laughed, “Yep. But unless you want to call this off and announce to the world that you’re too gay to function, I think it’s time to get with the screwing.”  
  
And so the next fifteen minutes were filled with bed-bouncing, screaming, and thumping on the wall. Belle did have to punch him in the balls at one point, though for shouting something not only obscene but faintly sexist and offensive.  
  
“Heat of the moment, sorry.” He apologised, and held up his palms in surrender.  
  
“Oh, whatever,” she whispered back, and then yelled, “Oh god, please don’t STOP!”  
  
Finally, to get the sheets sufficiently rumpled, Belle decided to find all the ticklish spots between Jefferson’s ribs, and they ended up mock-wrestling all over the bed. She was, in that moment, very glad that she was crushing so hard on her Lit professor. If she’d had any attraction at all to Jefferson, it might’ve been hard to not exploit the situation.  
  
As it was, they finally collapsed next to each other, breathing hard and giggling hysterically, trying to mask their laughs as moans of pleasure.  
  
“I feel like a should be smoking something right now.” Belle murmured, and Jefferson snickered.  
  
“You can be the first girl on your block to say you giggled all the way through your first time.”  
  
She groaned, covered her face with her hands, “Not my first time. Acting. Different.”  
  
“Yeah… so, did I make the fake-earth move?”  
  
“Oh, totally,” she nodded, “Best fuck I’ll ever have, pleasure like I’ve never known, etcetera  etcetera. No arguments here.” She sighed, dropped her hands to the messed up sheets and pushed herself upright, “Ready to face the mob?”  
  
“After you, Beauty.” He gestured toward the door, and she giggled. She reached for her underwear and uncovered the keyhole.  
  
“Here,” she said, quietly, “So all the world knows you’re straight as an arrow.”  
  
“Thank you.” He took them, and stuffed them in his jeans pocket, “I mean it.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “Say that when I’m coming for your firstborn.”  
  
He laughed, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before walking past her to the door and throwing it open, swaggering out.  
  
She heard some shouts of approval, some kind of reception for a conquering hero, and for the first time she wondered at the truth of sexual double-standard. This would confirm her reputation as a campus slut, and yet Jefferson would just be accepted, even lauded, as the guy who banged Belle Charmin.  
  
Suddenly, she just wanted to go home and lie down. Possibly take a long, hot shower. As if she really had just had random, meaningless sex, and was now regretting it.  
  
She was near-stumbling once she put the ridiculous stilettos back on, but she was getting better and better at walking in them. One upside to this dressing-sexy thing was that her balance was improving.  
  
Still, she near on crashed into someone coming around a corner, and backed up quickly, “Woah, sorry, I didn’t- Professor Gold?”  
  
For there, before her, grim-faced in his shirtsleeves and clutching a bottle of Heineken like his life depended on it, was her English Lit professor. At a campus party. Where she’d just pretended to have wild sex with an old friend.  
  
A part of her, reckless and cynical, silently begged the universe to make the day any worse. She figured it impossible outside of actual death or disease.  
  
“Belle, how lovely to see you.” His voice suggested the exact opposite, but she was too stunned and awkward to say a word.  
  
“What’re you-“ she stopped, remembered her manners, “Sorry, I mean, why’re you at a student party?”  
  
“I believe in weights and counterweights. If Regina Mills decides to bring her dark clouds to rain on parades, I feel I need to be here before it gets out of hand.”  
  
“Professor Mills is really here?” Belle swallowed hard, the knot clenching tighter in her stomach. Dealing with Regina again was the very last thing she needed.  
  
“Over there, talking with Graham Hunter by the drinks table.” He nodded, and she turned. The pair were in deep conversation about something, although from what Belle knew of Graham, Regina would be talking and he’d be nodding blindly. Not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, that boy.  
  
“Damn.” She muttered, and Gold’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. “What?”  
  
“Nothing, dearie, nothing at all.”  
  
“No, you were looking at me strangely.”  
  
“I’m a strange man,” he replied, dryly, with a little crooked smile that almost stopped her thoughts dead. Almost.  
  
“If you have something to say to me, professor, then please say it.” She sighed, exhausted: lying and being lied about was surprisingly waring, and right now she didn’t give a damn if he was her professor. He was still a human being, and could be spoken to like one, and expected to respond in kind.  
  
“I was simply wondering about the rumours people seem to be so fond of.” He replied, his mild tone belied by the sharpness of his eyes, “Particularly ones about you.”  
  
“And why would you care about idle campus gossip, professor?” she asked, her eyes narrowed just as his were, “About me or anyone else?”  
  
“I care if they are related to outbursts in my class. Really, dearie, you cannot expect me to stop people from harassing you if you refuse to at least be discreet in your proclivities.”  
  
“I can expect you to stop people from being assholes in class because you’re a teacher and it’s your job!” she bit back, hotly.   
  
She glanced around and then grabbed his arm - his muscles clenched under his shirt, hard and strong and warm, but she was too far gone to care that she was breaking a lot of social rules right now - and hauled him to the side, into a deserted side corridor and around a corner where they wouldn’t be seen or easily heard. “And for your information, my ‘proclivities’ as you call them - not that my sex life or lack thereof is any of your business - are not only entirely discreet but also non-existent.”  
  
“Oh, then I suppose that Mr Madden didn’t have a pair of women’s underwear in his back pocket, and a story about you and a nearby bedroom not five minutes ago?” the amusement that had been in his eyes when she grabbed him was gone, and he regarded her cooly, his arms folded where he leaned against the wall.  
  
The music thumped away in the background, the people shouting and talking and getting steadily more drunk serving as background noise.  
  
“You know nothing about me or Jefferson,” she hissed back, and she was tempted to leave it there. To let him think she really had just fucked a guy who, for all he knew, was a complete stranger, and walk away.   
  
He was her Professor, and she shouldn’t be discussing her sex life with him in a dark corner at a party. It was too personal, too unprofessional, and dangerous on far too many levels.  
  
But despite the perks of people thinking of her like this, despite how strongly she felt that, even if she was sleeping around, no one should think less of her for it, she couldn’t leave him like that.   
  
Because he could so easily retreat back behind he mask of Professor Gold, and she could be just another student. Because she liked how they could argue as two equal people, outside of class, and not as a teacher and student. She liked how he looked at her, and didn’t want him to hate her and never speak to her again, for any reason at all.  
  
“And, even though it is _none_ of your business,” she continued, “We did not have sex. Jefferson is an old friend of mine, and he’s being bullied. We figured that giving him a fake sex life with someone like me would stop the Deltas from throwing him in dumpsters twice a week.”  
  
“So all that show back there…”  
  
“Oh lord, you heard that?” she groaned, leaned sideways to hit her head on the wall with a dull thump.  
  
“Dearie, most of the house heard that.” He teased her, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. His voice was warmer, now, his posture more relaxed and his eyes soft. She shouldn’t be glancing at his mouth, but she simply couldn’t help it. Either his eyes or his lips drew her attention, and she could make a valid argument for avoiding both.  
  
She smiled, eyebrows raised “We were jumping on the bed and pretending to be in a porno.” She confided, “Really, did you think that ‘ _Oh god, yes, please, take me nowwww! Harder harder harder!_ ’ sounded in any way realistic?”  
  
Her mimicry had, admittedly, strayed into _When Harry Met Sally_ territory. But even so, she hadn’t expected the darkening in his eyes, or his lips to part ever so slightly as he stared at her. “Indeed, not.” He murmured, and she frowned, shook her head.  
  
“At any rate, ninety percent of clothing stayed on, and the most action I got was a kiss on the forehead at the end. He’s not even into me: he’s like a brother. Possibly a future brother-in-law, if my sister gets her way.”  
  
“Oh.” He nodded, swallowed, and she watched him try to regroup. She was stone-cold sober and not high on anything, if exhaustion wasn’t factored in. And yet she could swear that Gold was… relieved, that she wasn’t involved with anyone. That some of his ire could even have come from jealousy.  
  
He was certainly looking at her oddly. The way Archie had looked at Ruby, that day on the grass. The way Greg had never looked at her, but had definitely looked at Josh, boy he’d mooned over the whole last semester of Freshman year.  
  
But she was reading him wrong, because he didn’t see her that way.  
  
He couldn’t: she was a nineteen-year-old student, with a quick temper and blunt opinions, and a tendency to use profanity inappropriately.  
  
“Yeah.” She breathed, incapable of other words. She would follow where he lead: the ball was in his court. She just needed to see how he planned to throw it. He would undoubtedly disentangle himself from this whole conversation, any moment now, and it would be wiped away as the result of an unplanned meeting and the beer in his hand.  
  
But he didn’t move, except perhaps to lean just a little closer to her.  
  
“Well, you’re a beautiful young woman,” he reasoned, softly, “No one should begrudge you to sleep with whoever you please, if you choose to.”  
  
“Says the man who not five minutes ago was accusing me of being indiscreet, and threatening to let the haters do their worst,” she countered, but she couldn’t keep from smiling.  
  
“That was before I knew you were pretending.” He said, “Now this can be viewed academically and logically.”  
  
“Whereas before it was viewed…”  
  
His dark eyes pinned her in place, as he licked his lips, and then said, slowly and deliberately, “Emotionally and thoughtlessly. I apologise.” He was so close, close enough that she could count the eyelashes around his dark, warm eyes. She was warm all over, and suddenly not tired at all, heart racing and voice quieted to a soft whisper.  
  
“Emotionally?” she frowned, “Why would that be, professor?“  
  
For a moment, everything was quiet and still, warm and close and soft. He stared at her as if he wished to devour her whole. As if she was something special and precious and unexplainable. She could hardly breathe under the weight of that stare.   
  
And then he seemed to come to his senses, and the spell broke, “No matter, dearie,” he replied, almost too quickly, and backed away from her as if she’d set him on fire, “Just concern for your welfare. I’m glad you’re alright.”  
  
“Oh, well, me too.” She flashed a smile, but his return was awkward and too-bright.   
  
“I’d best be off.” He didn’t even give an explanation, just vanished into the crowd, until Belle couldn’t be certain he’d ever been there in the first place.  
  
The odd thing was: until he’d suddenly seemed to have caught hold of himself, and run off as if she were holding a loaded gun or something, she’d been certain that he was about to kiss her. Her imagination could be a total bitch sometimes.  
  
—-  
  
 _To be honest, walking home from that party to my dorm room, I felt as if I’d actually done what everyone now believed that I had. But the regret, the exhaustion, had faded somewhat. Despite feeling entirely shellshocked and messed up, I was also… well, just a little bit happy._  
  
 _Everyone thought that I’d had a drunken and exceedingly public one night stand._  
  
 _Jefferson still claims he was nothing but nice about me after our supposed tryst, and I guess I believe him. But that didn’t stop the crude gestures the guys made at me walking back through the party, and on the short walk home. But I barely even noticed, to tell you the truth. But I can say that I fucking hate texting, facebook, twitter… really instant mass-communication of any sort, these days._  
  
 _My mind was stuck on Gold, and this time it was more than just idle daydreaming: I was so certain that he had been about to kiss me. And even though the rational part of my brain knew that was total bullshit, I still couldn’t keep it out of my head._  
  
 _Even when he was in the closet and trying to be my boyfriend, Greg’s kissing had always been a bit perfunctory, as if he was reading from a script. And I’d never minded much, not really: I’d rather be kissed sparingly by an old friend than slobbered on by some drunken football player._  
  
 _I bet Gold would kiss like he meant it. Thoroughly, properly, you know? So you couldn’t even breathe after. Like I said: silly daydreaming. Even if… well, that’s getting ahead of myself again._  
  
 _That was probably why I remember little of the rest of that night… well, beyond replaying that imaginary moment a hundred times in my head, and waiting for the awkward that Monday would bring._  
  
 _I’d expected it to be difficult to go to my Lit group, and look in the eye the so-very-off-limits professor who had - not forty eight hours previous - cornered me at a party and acted like a jealous boyfriend. I’d expected to avoid eye contact, not know what to say, and have to leave as fast as my stilettos could carry me afterwards._  
  
 _The worst, however, was not Gold at all._  
  
—  
  
“Okay, we’re talking now.” A set of crimson claws dug into Belle’s arm, and she felt herself hauled bodily into the ladies’ room.  
  
“Woah, Ruby, what the hell?” she complained, rubbing the nail marks on her arm where she’d been grabbed.  
  
“You know exactly what, you lying bitch,” Ruby spat, “You and Mr. Not Gay Just Looks It. You said you weren’t into him!”  
  
“Who, Jefferson?”  
  
“You lied to me. You totally hooked up with him at Abigail Midason’s party, and neglected to inform me of a word of it.”  
  
“I… wait, is that what people are saying?” She felt a little bad about using her friend as a litmus test for how well a lie had taken root, but then, this whole situation was technically Ruby’s fault. So she didn’t feel that bad.  
  
“You better fucking believe it,” Ruby looked furious, “I had to hear about it from August Booth, who let me tell you, is not someone I wanted to have to talk to today. He did that whole ‘I know something you don’t know’ shtick of his, until I threatened his future children. That got him talking.”  
  
“Oh, um… sorry?”  
  
“Belle, you’re one of my best friends. I should be told this shit.”  
  
“I didn’t think it was important.”  
  
That was the wrong thing to say. Ruby rocked back on her heels, arms folded in front of her, an expression of utter disapproval and disgust on her face, “So the rumours are true. You really are just fucking around, aren’t you?”  
  
“What?” Belle had no idea where Ruby got the nerve to be angry at her at this moment, but it was pissing her off something rotten, “Ruby-“  
  
“No, save it. I didn’t want to believe it, but Ashley Boyd and her lot were absolutely right about you. You’re a total skank.”  
  
“Um, last I checked, Rubes, I wasn’t the one going off for lost weekends with whole groups of guys and a crate of liquor. That halo’s looking a bit rusty.”  
  
“Oh, whatever, you know I’ve only slept with Pete.”  
  
“Yeah, while thinking about _Archie fucking Hopper_.” Belle spat, “How hard is it, screwing one guy when you’re so crazy in love with someone else?”  
  
“You’re going to want to back off,” Ruby warned, her voice deathly calm and furious, and Belle could see that she’d crossed a line somewhere. Good. If Ruby wanted her to be a skanky, shameless bitch, then that would be exactly what she got. “Before I decide to tear you a new one.”  
  
“You’re just jealous,” Belle’s tone matched Ruby’s, her smile saccharine and poisonous, “Pete’s wasted or stoned half the time, and Archie’ll never make a move. All that flirting and not a thing to show for it. You can’t stand that I’m more popular than you are.”  
  
“Yeah, the most popular whore on campus,” Ruby looked torn between smug and murderous, and Belle wanted to slap her so badly that her hand physically trembled, “Enjoy being infamous, bitch.”  
  
And with that, she stormed past and slammed the door behind her, leaving Belle alone in the ladies’ room and caught between victory, and trying not to sob her heart out.


	5. Chapter 5

When Belle finally pulled herself together and sorted her make up, she was actually looking forward to her English class. She wasn’t sure when seeing Gold had become the highlight of her day, but after everything at the party, she had a feeling she’d want to see him even without the heart-pounding that went with it. It would be good to see someone, even only from afar, who knew the truth.  
  
It was getting just a little waring that people were staring at her as she walked across the quad.  
  
She had her head down as she entered the classroom, and so it wasn’t until she glanced up from her seat that she saw it was one of Gold’s TAs, not the man himself, readying to teach the class.

 

“Hello everyone,” the TA greeted, and received a mumbled response. No one would be sad to see their usual bastard of a teacher gone - no one but Belle, a thought she didn’t need to be dwelling on right then - but no one was too eager to be taught by someone only a few years their senior, either.

 

There were some TAs at Storybrooke U who were arguably better than the professors themselves: Ruby wasn’t the only one who raved about Archie Hopper’s seminars, as Professor Blue spent most of her time on field work. Still, most students felt a little ripped off when they were left with a grad student instead of an actual professor.

 

“My name is Bay Williams, I’ll be leading Professor Gold’s seminars for the foreseeable future.” He spoke in a British accent, although he sounded a little more native than Gold ever had, as if he’d been here for years.

 

“How come?” Eric Seaborn piped up, and suddenly Belle felt as if she were back in high school.

 

“Because of personal reasons,” Bay replied, calmly, “Anyway, I will be taking his classes and passing work along for him to mark. I believe you were focussing on the end of the novel this week?”

 

Belle looked down at the blank page before her, and felt her heart sink in her chest. She hadn’t wanted an awkward scene, not at all, but even that would have been better than not seeing him at all. He probably had a family thing, or was sick, or had any other valid reason to leave his teaching to a trusted assistant. It didn’t stop Belle from feeling just a little bit abandoned.

 

She barely heard the class continue around her, although her notes were full by the end so she must have taken something onboard. She got up to leave at the end, one of the last out, when Bay caught her arm.

 

“Yes?” she asked, turning to face him.

 

“You’re Belle Charmin, right?” he asked, and she nodded, a feeling of fatigue and something like anger rushing through her. He was going to ask if the rumours were true; he was going to be an asshole and make her hate him. It was a shame: he had lead the class fairly well, and he seemed like a nice guy. She didn’t want to hate him.

 

“Yeah, that’s me.” Bay had let go of her arm and stepped back, but his smile was warm and genuine.

 

“I just… I wanted to say hi in person, and apologise for Professor Gold’s absence. He didn’t say much, but he told me to keep an eye on you.”

 

“Why?”

 

Bay laughed, awkwardly, “I honestly have no idea, he’s a strange guy at the best of times.”

 

“Right.” Belle nodded, but she couldn’t keep the smile completely from her face. He cared about her enough to mention her; she meant something to him, even if she was just a student in a bad situation. Even if the incident at Abigail’s party had been the booze talking and nothing more, it was at least _something_.

 

She was about to leave, when she thought of something else, “Can I just ask… what were his personal reasons for not teaching us anymore?”

 

Bay shook his head, “I honestly don’t know, I just got an email yesterday evening asking if I could lead these classes for a while. The most I got out of him when I called was “ _Just do it Bay, and stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong_.””

 

 Belle giggled, “That was the worst Scottish accent I’ve ever heard.”

 

Bay grimaced, “Don’t tell him I did that.”

 

“Don’t tell him I asked.”

 

“Deal.” He smiled, a pleased, intrigued kind of smile, his head cocked to one side.

 

“Deal.” Belle nodded, smiling, and gave a little wave goodbye as she left the classroom.

 

She was at least halfway down the corridor before she felt the anger resurface. Gold was the only person besides Jefferson in the world who knew the truth, and the only one of those two who hadn’t recently made her life somewhat harder. And yet he still abandoned her to the campus wolves without so much as an explanation, and she was starting to think more and more that his disappearance had more to do with her than Bay was aware.

 

But without the man himself to accuse, Belle’s anger was left to just fester, to add to the little discontentments that had been growing steadily since the year began.

 

Something had to give. Sometime soon, she had to be able to gain something from lying so much, so often.

 

—

 

_I’ll admit, at that point, I was pretty pissed off._

_Because for all that he seemed to wish me well, Gold had left me to deal with everything essentially alone, as had Jefferson. I didn’t see either of those bastards for a good few weeks - and when I did… well, that part comes later - and when left to my own devices I tend to be a little too brave (some would say stupid) for my own good._

_I went with a decent standby cliche: I went shopping._

_I don’t spend much normally, I mean, books and coffee don’t eat up too much of my budget, and my parents still paid for my meal card in sophomore year. So I had a decent hoard of cash saved up to go completely nuts at the Storybrooke mall._

_Overnight my wardrobe went from mostly t-shirts, with some jeans and skirts that, the year before, had always been paired with thick tights, to something completely different. I think I bought out one of the town’s lingerie shops, as well as anything low-cut and tight fitting any of the other stores could offer._

_By the time I was done, my old clothes sat in boxes in the back of my wardrobe, and everything was either skintight or cleavage-revealing or simply miniscule. My underwear had gone from cotton to silk and lace, and every bra was either padded or push-up or both._

_Abbie was gone for a few days, I think she had food poisoning or something. She missed the in-between stages of my transformation, at least, for which I was grateful. The last thing I needed was her there to make me feel ashamed of the whole exercise. Abigail never judges: she’s not the type. She just has a way of making you see when you’re being silly, and want to put it right. My mama does the same thing._

_I remember walking through campus on the first day, in a tiny blue corset top and painted-on black jeans, spike stilettos and deep red lipstick. I looked like a total whore, but every eye was on me._

_And I_ liked _it. I felt a viscous little thrill of triumph when Ashley Boyd had to physically look away from me, and yet her boyfriend’s eyes were glued to my ass._

_Everyone was a hypocrite: everyone wanted to gawp and gossip, but no one wanted to actually approve of what I did. So I gave up giving a shit what anyone actually said about me, and just got a sick amount of pleasure in stirring the rumours up as hard as possible._

—

 

Ruby glared daggers as Belle passed her in the hallway, but all Belle did was blow her a kiss and keep going. Everyone was watching: everyone always watched. Everyone knew without a shadow of a doubt that the pair of them were no longer friends.

 

“Yeah, just keep walking!” Ruby called, and Belle’s lips curled in something resembling a smile. She wheeled back around to face her, and smirked.

 

“What’s the matter, Rubes?”

 

“You know what the matter is, bitch,” Ruby hissed, “Since when do you dress like-“

 

“Like you in high school?” Belle smiled, sweetly, “I saw the pictures: at least I don’t own any hot pants.” Ruby seemed wordless with rage, so Belle turned to Pete, stood beside her and trying not to stare down Belle’s top. She leaned forward a little to make his job harder, “And how are you, Pete?”

 

“I ah,” he coughed, “I’m good.”

 

“Awesome,” Belle smiled, and took in Ruby’s look of utter hatred as her reward, “Hey, did you take French this year? I meant to ask.”

 

“Um,” Pete frowned, as if he were trying to remember his own class schedule, “No.”

 

“Well, I was in class yesterday, and did you know that my name, in French, means ‘beauty’?”

 

She watched him process, bit her lip and widened her eyes. She had never tried to play someone like this before, but if everyone already thought this was her life, then why not live it? After her outburst in the bathroom, Belle had no qualms whatsoever about forcing Ruby to watch. If she was going to throw herself at Archie Hopper, then she couldn’t be angry at someone else flirting with her boyfriend.

 

“It… it suits you.” He said, finally, and she gave him a massive smile.

 

“That’s so sweet!” Belle put her hand on his forearm and smiled to Ruby, “Isn’t he the sweetest?”

 

“Don’t you have a pole to go wrap yourself around?” she snarled.

 

“Do you have a problem, Ruby?” She asked, solicitously, “Anything I can do?”

 

“You wanna know my problem, bitch?”

 

“No,” Belle cut her off with a dismissive little smile, “Not really, no. That was a rhetorical question.” She turned and strutted away, leaving Ruby to yell insults at her back, and Pete just to stare.

 

Belle had somehow found a way to turn feeling completely alone into feeling powerful, and she liked it. Even if it did leave her sitting alone outside the library a few days later, sipping her Starbucks latte and trying not to think too hard.

 

“You okay, Belle?” a concerned voice came from beside her, and Belle glanced up to see Bay Williams looking down at her, frowning in concern.

 

“Checking up on me?” she asked, with something like a genuine smile. It had been days since she did more than smirk or smile with false invitation.

 

“No,” Bay laughed, “Just looking for a seat. This one taken?”

 

“Go for it.” She moved her satchel to the ground, and he took a seat beside her. She crossed her legs a little self-consciously: her skirt was incredibly short today, denim and pleated, and she didn’t want to look like she was coming onto him right now. Bay was one of the very few guys on campus who she hadn’t caught staring at her, and it’d be nice to keep it that way.

 

“Alright,” he sighed after a minute, “Maybe I am checking. A little. I did promise, after all.”

 

“Oh, yes,” she sighed, nodded, “The famous promise to keep an eye on me.”

 

“Don’t say it like that.” He turned to her, frowning as if in genuine offence, “I haven’t heard the old bastard say anything like that since… well, for a very long time. So either he thinks you might be murdered at any moment, or we need to have a chat.”

 

“Are professors even allowed to sanction the stalking of students?” she asked, and Bay laughed.

 

“Not stalking,” he corrected, “He’s just a little worried about you. And after spending the last week listening to the rumour mill in this place, I can see why.”

 

She sighed, ran a hand over her face, “Why is it everyone’s business what I decide to do in my free time?”

 

“If you’re being hurt by this,” Bay said, gently, “Then I guess Gold has decided it’s his.”

 

“You know, I didn’t even know he _had_ TAs,” she said, changing the subject, “Most students either loathe or fear him too much.”

 

Bay looked uncomfortable, “He usually doesn’t. There’s… I owe him a debt. That’s why I’m happy to take classes and check up on troubled students when he asks.”

 

Belle was intensely curious, but held her tongue. She didn’t need to upset him, after all.

 

“At any rate,” he continued, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You can come and talk to me if you need someone, you know. I’m right here.”

 

She nodded, “Thanks, but I’m okay. Great, even. Awesome.”

 

“Fine, fine,” he smiled as if he didn’t believe a word she said. She wanted to argue the point further, point out that she liked things the way they were and had a mother if she needed to talk something over with an adult, but he’d already got up and was strolling away.

 

She sat back, and stared at the sky, willing her mind to shut the hell up for a few minutes and give her some rest. Bay was nice, at least, and didn’t seem to be sizing her up every moment. Which was odd, these days: any guy who wasn’t busy checking her out seemed to be searching for some hidden red light.

 

She considered just wearing a name tag with ‘Roxanne’ on it, and walking around with an actual red flashlight, but the idea was stupid at best. No one would get the joke.

 

She thought, for the two seconds she had before her mind returned to its usual resting place, that perhaps she should try to develop a crush on Bay. After all, students were perfectly fine to date TA’s, and he was a generally well-meaning, good looking and well dressed young man. The kind parents wanted girls to bring home for the holidays. He’d probably look quite the part if he swapped his slim-fitted blue sweater for a garish red reindeer version.

 

And then his boss flashed behind her eyes, and the idea died on its feet. Bay was lovely, but definitely not her type. Unfortunately, her type seemed to have narrowed down to a very specific blend of slight, slim, older, dark-haired, brown-eyed, sarcastic, and Scottish.

 

She was so very screwed, and not at all in the way everyone assumed.

 

She stood, straightened her skirt and coat, and took herself off back to her dorm room. Abigail was back from her trip, and lounging on her bed.

 

“Wow, are you stupid.” She said, not even looking up from her magazine.

 

“I’m sorry?” Belle dumped her bag and stared at her, “What?”

 

“You weren’t even quiet about it.” Abbie said, “I mean, do what you want, no judgement, but… everyone knows.”

 

“Knows what?” Belle snapped, testily, sitting down on her bed, and her roommate finally looked at her.

 

“That you were getting it on with Jefferson Madden at my party the other night.”

 

“You didn’t try to stop me.” Belle pointed out.

 

“Because I knew you guys were old friends and I thought it was some kind of Ross and Rachel thing.” Abbie replied, “I didn’t think he was just a random hook up. I thought he was gay, anyway.”

 

“Well, obviously not.”

 

“Hm.” Abbie nodded, “Like Greg?”

 

“No, Greg was definitely-“ Belle stopped, clapped a hand over her mouth. No one knew that here, no one. Only Greg’s boyfriend and new friends in Texas knew the truth, and he liked to keep it quiet back home, if at all possible.

 

“Knew it!” Abbie smiled, her voice singsong.

 

“Oh, fuck you.” Belle groaned and lay back.

 

“Please sit upright, Belle,” Abbie sighed, “I can see your underwear from here. I didn’t know you could even _buy_ skirts that short in Storybrooke.”

 

“Yeah, well, you can.” Belle did as asked, though.

 

“So why’d you do it?” Abbie asked, “Pretend to sleep with Jeff?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“I was your roommate all last year, Belles,” she reminded, gently, “I know your fake sex noises. Did you and Greg ever really sleep together?”

 

Abigail was being way too insightful today. Belle should have known better than to underestimate her friend: she was pre-law and she noticed everything, and remembered as well.

 

“No.” Belle replied, miserably, the wind taken out of her sails. With both Gold and Jefferson scarpered, it would be nice to have one person who didn’t think she was a massive skank, “Well, kind of, we got close a few times in High School, but we never really… got anywhere.”

 

“And you and Jeff?”

 

“Bounced on the bed fully clothed and made noises.”

 

“I see.” Abbie gave her a disapproving glare, “So you’re lying to what… a hundred thousand people, give or take?”

 

“Which is worse, in your world?” Belle asked, curiously, “Lying or adultery?”

 

“They’re neither of them good things.”

 

“So I’m going to hell?”

 

“So you’re going to get yourself hurt, Belle,” Abbie said, gently, and somehow her sympathy was worse than any righteous anger, “Sooner or later.”

 

“Oh get lost.” Belle snapped, “I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Fine.” Abbie shrugged, “Suit yourself, lie your pretty little head off. Don’t come crying to me when everything’s gone pear-shaped and you’re miserable.”

 

“Do you hate me?” Belle asked, her hands covering her face as she stared at the ceiling, and she heard a little noise, half-snort and half-laugh, from Abbie’s bed.

 

“Of course not. Why would I hate you?”

 

“Regina hates me.”

 

“Regina…” Abbie sighed “Regina’s got a very intense, detailed view of the world. Sometimes she misses the big picture… but I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”

 

Belle made a choked little laugh, “Wanna bet?”

 

Whatever Abbie was about to say was cut off by a knock on the door. Belle swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and rose to answer it.

 

“Hey, Charmin, what’s up?” Phil Vine was staring at her, apprehension and fake-confidence rolling off him in waves..

 

“Hey, Phil,” she greeted, a little uneasily, “How’re you?”

 

“Not bad, not bad…” he nodded, and she could see from the awkward unease in his expression that there was something he wanted. She groaned inwardly, and just waited. “Can I come in?

 

“Sure.” Belle nodded, then caught a look from Abbie, “To talk?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Phil nodded, “To talk, obviously.”

 

“Okay.” She stood aside, let him in.

 

“I have a class anyway,” Abigail grabbed her bag and a folder of notes, “I’ll be back in a couple hours, maybe a little more. Bye.” She was gone in moments - uncomfortable with the idea of a near-stranger, and a boy at that, in their room, and Belle couldn’t blame her. Abbie was a fair bit more cautious than she was.

 

Phil settled himself in Belle’s desk chair, and she perched on the bed and waited for him to start.

 

“So, you know Jefferson Madden?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, he ah, he told me what you did for him. You know, at your roommate’s party?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Belle felt her mask slide back on as he looked at her, wicked gleam entering her eyes and a smirking little smile that felt entirely unnatural on her face curving her lips, “Well, it was more what he did for me, to be honest. Or _to_ me.” She winked for good measure, but Phil looked nonplussed.

 

“No,” he shook his head, “He told me what you really did. How you lied?”

 

“What?” her voice came out flat, stunned. Jefferson had been telling tales? She would kill the little bastard with one of his own scarves when she got her hands on him.

 

“No, no, don’t worry!” he shook his head, “It’s just… he told a couple of us art guys, that’s it, and I was wondering…”

 

“No.” She shook her head, “Nuh-uh, no way, no.”

 

“Oh come on!” Phil pleaded, “Just make out with me in the quad a few times, okay? Then we can pretend I broke your heart and it’ll all be over!”

 

She shook her head, “Who do you think I am? I did a favour for a friend, you obnoxious little asshole-“

 

“Alright,” he shrugged his shoulders, a colder look entering his eyes, “No one’ll believe you didn’t go down on me for a meal at the Pizza Hut anyway.”

 

She felt her stomach drop, stared at him with wide and almost-fearful eyes, “Are you… that’s _disgusting_. How could you do something like that?” she gasped, because really, what kind of a human being even threatened something so selfish and heartless?

 

But then, she could see the desperation fuelling his actions. This school wasn’t known for being a haven for misfits, or a good place to escape bullying or even just adolescent cruelty. If Jefferson had been jumped on the suspicion he was gay, and no one did a thing about it… Phil wasn’t bad looking, she guessed, but he had a reputation of his own.

 

“The way you’re going?” he shrugged, helplessly, “It wouldn’t be hard.”

 

“Why do you need this?” she asked, “Why not just get off with some drunk chick at a party?”

 

“After what happened last year?” he gave an unhappy little laugh, “Come on.”

 

“What… oh.” It dawned on her, the rumours that had so dogged Phil the previous year. That every girl he tried to hook up with fell asleep or passed out before he had a chance. It was usually put down to boredom, or the fact that no girl could touch him without already being wasted or stoned. Either way, the Storybrooke U rumour-mill had done its work. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“So you’ll help me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh, come on, Belle!”

 

“Why me?” she frowned and shook her head, “Why now?”

 

“Because…” he sighed, “Fine, I want to get with Tina Aurora, and there’s no way in hell she’ll even come near me if… you know, I’m not going to send her to sleep on the first date. It’s not good, having Ambien as your nickname, okay? Not if you plan to ever have sex.”

 

She snickered, she couldn’t help it. She remembered Greg giving him a hard time - too hard a time, overdoing it, covering his own tracks - over that, and she had to admit, it was rather funny.

 

“I can pay you!” he said, hurriedly, “Come on, please? Anything you want, _anything_.”

 

She felt an overwhelming sense of pity for the poor boy, all of a sudden. She had been worse than the butt of jokes: she had been ignored, lonely and invisible until this happened. Now at least people knew her name, and saw her as an adult, as someone with some kind of value even if it was only in taking her clothes off. Even if it was all a lie, at least it was something.

 

She sighed, shook her head, “Alright, fine! Fine!”

 

“Really?” he brightened, his smile wide and almost manic, “You’ll do it?”

 

“No, but you can tell everyone we made out and I let you get to second base. If anyone asks I’ll back you up.”

 

“And in return?”

 

She considered, “I want a hundred dollar gift certificate to Barnes and Noble, slipped under my dorm room door by the end of tomorrow.”

 

“A hundred dollars?” he cried “For second base?”

 

“Hmmm…” she cocked her head to one side, suddenly having a lot of fun making her deal, “Maybe you just felt me up while I was unconscious…”

 

“Fine!” he agreed, “Okay, yes, one hundred dollars at Barnes and Noble, and second base. Got it.”

 

“Good.” She held out her hand, and they shook on it, “Deal.”


	6. Chapter 6

Oh my god, remember how I said pretending to fuck Jefferson was the worst decision I ever made? I take it back. I let Phil pay me for fake sex, and he has a massive mouth. Jefferson told four people: Phil told everyone else.

And I do mean everyone.

And as I said before, I have major reasons to hate instant mass-communication. It felt like just hours between him starting the stories about our little rendezvous - he did start with flattering haste, and I had to admit it was nice that getting with me was almost a badge of honour - and the whispering turning to full-on gossip.

I wasn’t just a slut: I was a full-time prostitute. Apparently. Rumour had it, at least.

 

But while the rumour that I was sleeping around for money was more and more widespread, the rumour that I was lying about it all was a closely-guarded and controlled secret. I had two groups talking about me: the majority of the student body, wondering how long it’d be before I got diseased or pregnant, and the in-crowd of geeks, losers, and the fellow gossip-afflicted who needed the reputation boost.

 

Bay Williams (you know, Gold’s TA, the nice British one) was giving me funny looks, but I just smiled brightly right back. I had started this, I was encouraging this, and while it felt a little like something inside me had died a little, I wasn’t in mourning. I didn’t need someone to talk to.

 

Well, I did, but Bay wasn’t him.

 

What followed was a stream of guys on campus - the lost and the lonely, if you’re feeling poetic - coming and giving me coupons, gifts, or sometimes just cold hard cash. Anyone who got an oddly-expensive Christmas gift from me last year, you now know how I paid for it.

 

Sorry, Grandma.

 

I met Eric Seaborn by the pool - captain of the swim team, and unable to form complete sentences in front of the female captain - and received a fifty-dollar gift certificate to Red Lobster in Boston in return for a supposed hand-job in the cinema.

 

One hundred dollars cash from Lance Knightley, so he could say we’d got it on in his parents’ jacuzzi. I’m fairly sure that was a revenge thing, considering how his girlfriend Gwen had dumped him the week before to go back to her ex. I think he was looking to get even.

 

I got a whole two hundred in Target gift cards from Sean Herman (yep, Ashley Boyd’s dumbass boyfriend) to claim that I’d come on to him, and he’d turned me down flat. That one I was okay with, to be honest.

 

Those are only the ones that really stand out, but there were plenty of others. I made about six hundred dollars all told, between campus guys, the occasional townie, and even a couple of girls wanting to prove they were adventurous enough to have a lesbian phase. After those rumours came out, I have to say I rose to an odd kind of celebrity. Apparently having same-sex partners is fine by the Deltas so long as you have boobs.

 

I think it was two weeks later that I started getting sick of it.

 

It was too late by then.

 

—

 

Belle couldn’t cross the quad by the end of November without someone wolf-whistling. She supposed it was probably mostly her fault: her heels were massive, her legs bare under her coat despite the winter chill, and now everyone was certain she was up for it. She couldn’t really complain about the attention, since she had done all she could to inspire it.

 

The worst came, though, when she had her second run-in with Regina Mills. The woman had been shooting her dagger-eyed glares for weeks, and Belle had heard from Abbie that she’d been mentioned in more than one Ethics Committee meetings. But Belle hadn’t said anything about it in public, and Regina had kept away, so Belle hoped it could stay that way.

 

But her heart sank when, rounding the corner from her history class, she saw the woman herself lounging by the library door, watching her. Her suit cut a dark shape against the bright whiteness of the hallway, and Belle wondered for a moment if Regina picked her outfits specifically to look as evil and menacing as possible.

 

She didn’t look like someone bent on doing the Lord’s work, at any rate.

 

“Miss Charmin,” she greeted, as Belle tried to pass her into the library. She’d been lying in wait. Brilliant.

 

“Professor Mills.” Belle inclined her head, politely, and tried to continue on her way.

 

“May I have a word?” Mills put her hand on the door, preventing entry, and Belle sighed, looking up at her with a bright, false smile.

 

“What about?”

 

“I think you know.” Mills’ smile was like razor blades, “You have time now, right?”

 

Belle sighed, shifting her weight, trying to think of a way out of this. But Mills was looking at her from the tips of her stilettos to the hem of her miniskirt to the deep-v of her t-shirt, her lips pursed like a disapproving spinster aunt. Or what Belle assumed one would look like, being only in possession of one absent-minded uncle.

 

“Yeah,” she nodded, trying to look and sound as confident and brazen as possible. If acting like a skank who didn’t give a damn was enough to piss this woman off, then why not play it up? “I have time.”

 

“Great.” Regina nodded, that smile returning and making Belle wonder if she should have accepted her father’s offer of brass knuckles when she moved to college, “Follow me.”

 

The trip to Regina’s office took little time, and was completely silent. Belle could feel the eyes of the students they passed, marvelling at the sight: the uptight Ethics chairwoman and the campus slut.

 

She was ushered into the office and the door closed behind her. The room was a black and white nightmare of smooth modern furniture and starkly patterned wallpaper, and it made Belle’s eyes hurt a little to look. She took a seat opposite Regina and crossed her legs for a little modesty, feeling entirely too small and colourful in this monochrome room.

 

“Miss Charmin,” Regina began, smiling still, “I would simply like to… I would apologise for my behaviour a few weeks back. It wasn’t fair to criticise you so brashly.”

 

Belle started in surprise, “A-apologise?” she frowned, as if the word made no sense at all, “For anything specific?”

 

Regina laughed, a sound like smooth dark honey, “Why, for my rudeness, of course! I came down far too hard on you… petty name-calling is not appropriate for a situation as delicate as this one.”

 

“Right.” Belle said, nodding her head just a little. She had no idea how to react to that, and remaining as quiet as possible seemed the best strategy.

 

“After all,” Regina leaned forward, and Belle could smell her apple perfume, and see the malice behind her bloody smile, “Troubled young women need help, do they not?”

 

“I’m not troubled, Professor Mills,” Belle said, a little offended and trying to hide it, “I’m fine.”

 

“Oh, dear,” Regina’s little concerned frown was somehow terrifying, “It’s worse than even I feared.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Your condition.” She said, with a small smile, “Your descent into sin and depravity. If you can’t even hear how loudly you’re crying for help-“

 

“I’m not crying for help,” Belle protested, “My grades are fine and I’m not high on anything. I’m good.”

 

“You’re a whore, dear,” Regina said, gently, “And I thought for a while that perhaps you would see the error of your ways on your own. But obviously this licentious behaviour means something deeper… some sickness in the soul…” Belle was getting angrier and more hurt with every word, her fists curling and uncurling at her sides, “And I want you to know that I’m here for you. Any time you wish to repent, and get back on a good path.”

 

“You’re… you’re trying to help me.” Belle nodded, the tears stinging her eyes pulled back by pure stubbornness, “Great, thanks.”

 

“You don’t need to look so hostile, dear,” Regina said, “It’s alright to admit you need help.”

 

“But I don’t need help!” she protested, “and for your information I’m not whoring around, God!”

 

“Please don’t blaspheme in here,” Regina’s look turned outright cold, “If you would be so kind.”

 

“Then don’t call me names when you don’t have your facts straight. I am not sleeping with people for money. I mean, everyone’s saying it, but I’m not really doing it.”

 

“Denial,” Regina smirked, “Such a tragic sign of a guilty conscience.”

 

“I have to be somewhere else.” Belle snapped, standing and heading for the door. But then she turned, an idea hitting her, “And I don’t know how much further you have to go, but rest assured that the moment you start being an actual bully, the Dean is hearing about this.”

 

“Really, Miss Charmin?” Regina leaned forward, smiling still that smile of knives and swords, “Well, the moment you provide proof that your… condition is potentially harmful, then the Dean will surely hear about that, as well. Along with other authorities.” She smirked, “Solicitation is, after all, a crime in the state of Maine, and your denials could even be a sign of delusion,” she leaned forward, and voiced the next words as a threatening, smiling secret, “Even of potential mental illness.”

 

The words sent a chill down Belle’s spine.

 

It seemed like something out of one of Gold’s victorian novels: a woman being arrested or put into psychiatric treatment for sheer scandal. But then, Belle was becoming more and more certain that Regina was a highly-functioning sociopath, so perhaps the idea wasn’t so ridiculous in her mind.

 

The thought was terrifying, and made Belle want to go hide someplace and cry. She wouldn’t, of course, because she was stronger than that. But she wanted to.

 

“See you later, Belle.” Regina purred, and Belle practically ran to get away.

 

One of the boys in the hallway wolf-whistled as she hurried past, and she realised belatedly that walking so fast made her ass shake in her little skirt and heels. The thought made her ill.

 

A week ago, she had loved all of this attention, the fact that one glance from her would part crowds and make boys stammer.

 

Now, she just wanted her jeans and heavy cardigan, and to be anonymous.

 

The winter break started two weeks later, but she put off going home for the holidays for a few days and took herself off to Boston instead. Her uncle - her dad’s twin-brother - had a spare room, and she intended to take advantage of it.

 

When she unpacked her suitcase in David’s spare room - all her other stuff was in her car downstairs, leaving her just a small case to deal with - it felt good to peel off the corset top and skintight black jeans she’d worn all day in college and put on an old sweater and longer skirt, and her thick black tights. Even better was the change from stilettos to flats: her balance was poor at the best of times, and being her regular height for a change felt wonderful.

 

“There you are!” David grinned at her as she emerged, “You look like my niece again.”

 

She decided to play innocent, “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Really? I never pegged you as one for lingerie as outerwear.” David wasn’t the brother gifted with brains in her father’s family, but he knew what he saw. Belle just had to hope it wasn’t accompanied by a phone call home.

 

“It’s a… thing at college,” she improvised, “Just a phase.”

 

“Alright then, you do what you gotta do, kiddo.” He ruffled her hair - she was twenty in a month, and he was still ruffling her hair like she was ten - and gave her a conspiratorial smile.

 

Her own uncle assumed that she was sleeping around. But then, David wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.

 

“What do you want to do while you’re here?” he asked, changing the subject.

 

“Some shopping would be good, I haven’t got anyone’s Christmas presents yet…” she also had a horde of gift certificates and unexplainable cash in her bag, and Storybrooke didn’t have some of the stores she could now shop at. “I don’t know, just chill out for a bit, I guess.”

 

“Okay,” David nodded, smiling, “That’s cool. I have a load of work to be catching up on, anyway. Come back at about eight and we can see about dinner.”

 

He was already heading out of the kitchen, back to his work spread out on the dining table. David was training for yet another accountancy qualification - or maybe it was the same one as last time, Belle couldn’t remember - and his attention was already on that.

 

It was oddly nice, Belle thought for just a moment, to have someone not be staring at her. Even if it was someone related to her, who had the same face and voice as her father.

 

She grabbed her handbag and went out into the city, her coat wrapped around her to ward off the chill.

 

Belle found staying in Boston a welcome little reprieve. She was obviously enjoying her life on campus, being famous and helping people, and being able now to openly piss off the people she’d always disliked anyway. She regretted little even despite how Ruby wasn’t even speaking to her anymore. But it was nice to be anonymous for a while, and if she’d gone home she still would have had Greg coming home and Jefferson to deal with.

 

It wasn’t the bravest of decisions, but she called home on her third day and told her parents she was staying another couple of weeks, and David would come up with her on the way back.

 

Truth be told, she hadn’t felt so at peace in a while. The out-of-sorts irritability that had hung over her since the start of the semester - hidden and weakened by the new attention but not entirely removed - fell away the longer she spent just wandering through shopping centres and parks, texting the few people she missed from her life and ignoring everything else.

 

Abbie and Freddy were happy staying with his parents over the break, and Emma gave her updates on what was happening at home. Which was nothing much, by the sound of it, except she mentioned - once or twice, and almost furtively - that she’d seen quite a bit of Jefferson since the break started. Meeting her from school and things.

 

Belle wasn’t sure if she was happy for her sister, or ready to tear Jefferson a new one. She settled for a bit of both.

 

She’d been in Boston five days before things changed.

 

She was browsing the shelves in the Coop bookstore - she’d had little desire to pay the fees or go through the pains of applying to somewhere like Harvard, and wouldn’t have got in anyway, but their bookstore was incredible - for perhaps the third time since she’d arrived in the city when she spotted a very familiar figure.

 

What he was doing there, she had no idea at all. She’d heard nothing from Professor Gold - even through Bay - since he left for ‘personal reasons’ at the end of October, and she’d assumed he was either holed up in Storybrooke or had gone somewhere exciting, like New York or California or maybe home to Europe.

 

Whatever she’d thought, it wasn’t that she’d see him perusing the shelves in a Boston bookshop.

 

She had no idea what to say. Looking at him - secretively, from behind a display of computer manuals - the very idea that he had left because of their encounter at the party seemed entirely ridiculous. He looked so at home here, frowning as he searched for whatever it was he was looking for, his posture relaxed. He’d let his beard grow a little since she’d last seen him, and the scruff about his neck and chin suited him.

 

She was staring, and it was creepy, and she should just leave before someone saw her.

 

“Belle?”

 

She froze. But Gold hadn’t moved, and the voice had been young, coming from behind her. Bay Williams was beaming at her, an expression of utter delight on his handsome face. Today was just getting weirder and weirder.

 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, that silly smile still spread across his face, “I thought you were going home for the holidays?”

 

“I have family here,” she answered, keeping her voice down, hoping Gold was too busy with his thoughts to hear how Bay’s voice carried, “What about you?”

 

“Me too. Well, sort of. The grumpy old git is about here somewhere.”

 

Something clicked in Belle’s head, two pieces that fit perfectly if she thought about it for longer than a few seconds, “You’re here with Professor Gold.” She said: it wasn’t a question.

 

“My stepfather.” Bay explained, still smiling.

 

“Ex-stepfather.” A horribly familiar voice clarified, and Belle was getting tired of being surprised by voices from behind her. Hopefully Regina Mills wouldn’t pop up from the Fiction section and make her day complete: seeing how today was going, she wouldn’t have put it past the Universe.

 

She was, of course, completely and utterly and stupidly happy to see him. But she was now certain she was going to make a fool out of herself, having missed him for over a month, and Bay grinning at her wasn’t helping her to feel any less childish.

 

“Professor Gold!” she greeted, slipping on that happy face she was becoming so good at. “What’re you doing in Boston?”

 

“Keeping this one out of trouble,” he nodded to Bay and smiled, “I hope he’s behaving himself.”

 

“I couldn’t possibly comment.” She replied, not wanting to criticise a TA in front of a professor, even if the pair were related.

 

Bay just laughed, “See, papa?” he said, “Someone likes me.”

 

“Hm,” he just smiled, and Belle hoped that someday soon he could do that without her heart skipping, “So, what brings you here?”

 

“Visiting family,” she said, “Trying to get away from campus for a while.” She didn’t mean to look at him meaningfully, but she could see what he knew what she meant anyway. She wondered how much these men, between them, knew about the truth of her situation.

 

“Storybrooke can feel a little oppressive after a while,” Bay nodded, having come to stand at Belle’s side to face the both of them, “You get to the point where you kind of just want the ground to swallow you whole and take you someplace else.”

 

Belle nodded, “Anyway, I was pretty much done here, so-“

 

“Oh, great!” Bay looked as if she’d just presented him with a brand new puppy, “We were just going to lunch.” He shot a look to Gold, but Belle was too busy freaking out on the inside to read much into it.

 

“That’s… nice.” She said, lamely, not sure how to proceed without seeming like she was trying to get away from them, or fishing for an invitation.

 

Bay was still staring at Gold, who finally looked down at Belle with a smile, “You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

 

Belle thought she might actually collapse on the spot. She had to be asleep, this was some kind of daydream or nightmare where she couldn’t say anything or think properly. The Koolaid man was going to burst from the wall any moment and she’d know for sure.

 

But they were staring at her, and she wasn’t dreaming, and she had to form words. “Yeah, sure.” She nodded, smiling, somehow keeping her insane inner monologue from showing on her face, “Lead the way.”

 

Bay was still smirking, falling into step next to Belle as Gold lead their way out of the shop. “How’re you doing?” he asked, in an undertone.

 

“I’m alright, yeah.” Belle nodded, “You?”

 

“Tolerable.” Bay nodded, and Gold looked back to them.

 

“Matter of opinion, that.” He said, and Belle had to swallow a little laugh.

 

“If I weren’t here,” Bay confided to her in a loud undertone, “He’d spend his whole Christmas break sat in the flat with his laptop and grading papers. He’d die of a vitamin B deficiency.”

 

“It’s vitamin D,” she replied, “That you get from sunshine. B you get from carbohydrates, I think.” She frowned, thinking back to Professor Whale’s biology classes the year before.

 

“See, Bailey?” Gold smirked, “Someone decided to listen in their classes.”

 

“Are you going to be mean the whole rest of the day?” Bay demanded, “Because if so I’m going to find a bar or something.”

 

“Drinking won’t solve anything.” Gold replied, with a mocking but fond little smile, and Belle stifled another giggle. His eyes were gleaming, and being so close to him was intoxicating. He’d dropped back to walk beside her, and he nudged her slightly as Bay pouted, “He should have learned by now that whiskey won’t solve who his family is.”

 

“What time is it?” Bay asked, suddenly.

 

“Um,” Belle checked her watch - an expensive, slim gold one she’d bought the day before with some of her ill-gotten gains, “About half past, why?”

 

“I have a date.” He announced, “I have to run!”

 

“You said we were going to lunch!” Gold protested, a little note of something not-quite panic in his voice, “Bored of us already?”

 

“We’re meeting at two, it’s half one already!” Bay replied, shrugging elegantly, “I have to go. Have fun!”

 

And with that, he walked off down a side street - his eyes were glittering just a moment before, and Belle could have sworn he was laughing at her - and left her entirely alone with Professor Gold.

 

For the first time since the party, over a month ago.

 

They stood for a moment, watching him leave, neither of them able to say a word.

 

“So.” Gold said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over the pair of them, “Lunch?”

 

“Yes… where were you planning to go?”

 

“There’s…” he paused, glanced down at her, and he suddenly looked so uncharacteristically unsure of himself that she had the wild impulse to hug him. “I mean, you don’t have to come with. I can just go home.”

 

“Bay seems to think you need entertaining,” she said, unsure of where the courage to speak like this to him was coming from, “So if you’re okay with my company…”

 

“You shouldn’t have to spend your afternoon with your teacher. Go and have fun, I don’t mind.”

 

He wanted her to come with him, she could see it. He looked as if he was having to force the words out, as if they were scripted or just so well-worn and expected that said them anyway.

 

But here they weren’t teacher and student. Here they were just two people with quite a bit in common, and no one else to eat with.

 

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your free time with a student.” She said, eyes downcast, going for hurt. She needed to prompt him into defending himself, admitting that he did want her to stay. It had nothing to with her own insecurities, of course not.

 

“Of the pair of us, dear, it’s not your company that’s usually found objectionable,” He chuckled, shaking his head, “Alright, fine. If you don’t mind being stuck with a grumpy old man for a companion, where do you want to eat?”

 

She thought for a moment, and then an idea hit her, “It’s a bit of a way, but we could get the bus to Faneuil Market? You can get the chowder there, and they serve it in a bowl made out of bread.”

 

He laughed a little at that, and nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

 

“Great!” she beamed at him as she lead their way to the bus stop. He smiled back, a small, warm, she thought maybe even accidental smile that was half humour, half… friendship? Fondness? She didn’t know, but it made her heart beat faster. It felt wonderful.


	7. Chapter 7

_I have admitted to a lot of mistakes in this crappy little story so far, but I have to admit: going to lunch with Gold was one of the few good calls I made. Even with everything that happened after, all the shit that went down and Regina Mills and her inquiries and… well, I don’t know if he would agree that taking me to lunch was a good idea._  
  
And I let it become a routine. Meeting the pair of them in bookshops and parks, and going for lunches and cups of coffee. To be fair, Bay was there for most of it. But Gold spent more time looking at me than at his stepson: I pretended not to notice, assumed I was making it up.  
  
I wasn’t, but that’s not really the point of the story. Or maybe it is: I blamed anything I couldn’t explain on my overactive imagination.

_If I’d given it some real thought, things might have gone smoother._

_But again, if I was prone to thinking about things, we wouldn’t have ourselves a story._

_—_

“Hey,” Belle turned, and saw Professor Gold a few aisles back in the bookstore, leaning out from behind one of the stacks and holding a volume in his hand, “Do you have this one?”

 

She frowned, put down the random book she’d been holding and went to see. They had arrived together, this time, met for coffee with Bay beforehand. But Bay had bumped into a friend on the way in, so he had vanished, and for perhaps the sixth time in three days left Belle alone with Gold.

 

Which was a bad idea, considering everything. Considering how she had an ever-increasing infatuation with the man, and it was Storybrooke U policy that teachers and students not date. He could lose his job, and she could be kicked out if the rumour spread that they were together. And they weren’t: they were barely even friends, really.

 

She was friends with Bay, and she liked Bay, and the University wouldn’t have batted an eye if they hooked up at some point.

 

But he only smiled at her in friendship, as brotherly as Jefferson on a good day, and she felt the same about him.

 

She had had the pleasure, earlier that afternoon, of seeing Gold’s ability to vanish in action.

 

Because the friend Bay had bumped into was Graham Hunter, the Captain of the varsity football team in Storybrooke, and one of Regina’s closest pet students. That he seemed friendly with Gold’s stepson was neither here nor there: Graham was not known for his brains, and one piece of information slipped to Regina Mills, Belle knew, would be disastrous.

 

She and Gold certainly hadn’t broken any physical or verbal conduct regulations. But Regina could work with just the rumour, and Belle’s reputation would seal the deal.

 

Belle knew to move the moment they clapped eyes on the man giving Bay a bear-hug. That they had to hide because of her reputation, where any other student would have gotten away with simply spending time with a professor without any trouble at all, made her ache a little inside.

 

But now there was no one around they recognised, so Gold had no qualms in standing close to her to hand her the book he’d found.

 

“The Golden Bough.” She read, frowning.

 

“It’s a classic for comparative mythology,” he explained, “Should be one of the core texts, of course, but Professor Witz is a-“ she looked at him, smirking: she found it hard not to laugh when he almost slipped up and criticised a colleague, “Is an exalted academic who happens to be of a different mind to myself on what is necessary reading.”

 

She snorted, grinning, “Right.” She looked back down at the book, perusing the back cover, “But I’m not even taking Comparative Religion this year.”

 

“You should next year, dear,” he advised, “And just because you’re not getting credit at the end doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be learning something.”

 

She snickered, rolled her eyes, “Yes, professor.”

 

“In my day,” he sighed, exasperated, “Young people didn’t roll their eyes at their teachers.”

 

She smirked, and stuck her tongue out at him, laughing at his surprise and mock-outrage. She must have imagined, she thought, the way his eyes flicked to her mouth and back again. She swallowed hard, and tried to regain her teasing smile, “Yes, well, in your day badly-behaved students could be caned or sent down the mines.” She retorted, “Or possibly sent to hunt a sabre-toothed tiger for supper.”

 

He shook his head, but his smile was uncontrollable and infectious, “We were sent to hunt  _mammoths_ , dear,” he corrected her, mock-sternly, “Sabres fight back, and they’re all stringy and chewy muscle when you get to cooking them.”

 

“Oh, yes,” she nodded, seriously, “How could I have been so stupid?”

 

“Read more.” He instructed, tapping the book with one long, slim finger, “And you’ll come across less foolish next time.”

 

“Right.” She nodded, and turned from him to go back to her perusal of the higher shelves of the fiction section, clutching the book he’d given her in both hands.

 

“Hey, professor?” she called, having clambered up the ladder to reach the highest shelves, and he looked up from perhaps seven or eight feet below, eyebrows raised.

 

“Yes, Belle?”

 

“What’re we reading next semester? I might as well find them now.”

 

He didn’t even have to think, “We’re doing the Gothic. You’ll want Carter, Bronte, Stoker, Shelley, and Wilde.”

 

She giggled, “Just the essentials, then?”

 

“Wider reading is important,” he told her, sternly, “So no, I won’t tell you which’re essential and which’re background. Read them all.”

 

She stuck her tongue out again - if he would act like a grumpy old man, when he wasn’t, then she would be a silly little girl and wind him up - and he smiled fondly, rolled his eyes and went back to his browsing of the shelves beneath her.

 

The familiarity was beautiful and warm, and her cheeks ached from smiling.

 

 _The Bloody Chamber_  was stuck between two other books: Belle had to pull hard to wrench it out. So she made the mistake - nearly fatal, she realised later - of pulling with all her might to free it.

 

She was so wrapped up in her tugging and pulling, that she didn’t remember either the drop beneath her or her own lack of balance, stood on that ladder. Her stance was precarious at best, but she didn’t notice the small warning wobbles as her balance slipped.

 

The book came loose, and she with it. She fell backwards, crying out in dismay as suddenly the ladder was gone and she was tumbling through midair, the ground beneath fast approaching.

 

Her heart raced, certain that she would meet her end splattered on the floor of a Boston bookshop.

 

But then, her landing was soft, and she was held firmly in a pair of strong arms.

 

She glanced about, dazed, and saw that it was Gold who had caught her, and his eyes were locked on her face, boring into hers for just a moment. His expression was so bewildered, as if he didn’t know at all what had happened, how he’d come to be cradling his student safely in his arms, so close that her head could tuck comfortably in the crook of his neck.

 

He smelled like cinnamon and tea, she realised, and some kind of cool, fresh cologne. His body was warm and strong, and he seemed to like holding her, if his racing heart - the beat that matched her own terror-struck pulse - was anything to go by.

 

“Thank you.” She said, after a moment, to break the aching, tense silence that had settled over them.

 

His eyes flicked to her lips as she spoke, and she wondered for a moment if this would break him, if this would be when he would kiss her as he hadn’t the night of the party, and break every rule and regulation in the book on impulse.

 

But he just set her back on her stumbling feet, and moved away, his hands seeming to dance in the air as he awkwardly tried to put some daylight between them.

 

“No matter, dear,” he brushed it aside, “Wouldn’t like to get your blood all over the books.”

 

“No,” she laughed, shakily, “That would be a pity.”

 

“You’re alright?” he checked, coming a little closer again now he seemed to have regained his equilibrium, “Nothing hurt.”

 

“You saved me from damaging myself, I think.” She said, gratefully, beaming at him.

 

“Alright then.” He nodded, looking her over all the same. She was suddenly very aware of the low cut of her v-neck t-shirt, as his eyes swept and lingered on her chest, and then her hips.

 

He licked his lips: she thought she might die from the heat in his eyes, when they met hers for just a moment.

 

“No more ladders.” He decided, nodding, “You need something from above the ground, you get someone else to fetch it. Deal?”

 

“Deal.” She nodded, more than happy to keep her feet on the ground after her almost-accident. Even if she knew that his arms under her shoulders and knees, his chest pressed to her side, his face inches from hers and soft, cool breath on her face had been the happiest moment of her entire year.

 

They didn’t mention it to Bay, and she bought his coffee for him later as a thank you. She didn’t ask him how he leapt to catch her so fast, or why the books he’d been collecting had been scattered on the floor when he stepped away from her.

 

As if he’d been watching her closely, and literally dropped everything in order to save her from her fall.

 

That was a little too much like caring, like something more than an eager student and indulgent teacher, and Belle wasn’t willing to open herself to that kind of hope. Her life was messy enough at that moment, without the added complication of her crush on her teacher being reciprocal.

 

—

_I found out later what had happened on his end, that day in the bookstore. I also found out where Bay had disappeared to, and why it really wouldn’t have mattered if Graham had seen Gold and I together in public, even just as semi-friends on a shopping trip._

_But again I’m getting ahead of myself._

_I was in Boston another week after the bookstore, and I have to admit that it was a wonderful week._

_But then it ended, and on my last day in the city things took a turn for the unbelievable. And painful. Yes, that last day hurt like a bitch, and not just because it was snowing pretty hard and I didn’t have gloves._

_It’s weird the things you remember of the important days, isn’t it?_

_—_

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Bay started, and Belle looked up from her ice cream with a frown. He had set down his spoon and everything, his sundae sat neglected on the table before him. His tone wasn’t usually so serious: she had learned over the past five days that the young man was rarely - if ever - _serious_.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not…. I mean, of course you’re not, but I need to know for sure and asking seemed kinder than…” she knew what he was going to say, and anyone else she would have hated for it. But he was Bay, and they’d grown somewhat close over the past week or so, and she could see the logic.

 

“Go ahead, ask.”

 

He looked miserable, “You’re not  _actually_  a hooker, are you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay.” He sighed, beamed at her in relief, “Thank god. I just… I mean, if you were, I’d be alright with that I guess since you’re lovely and all, but… yeah, this makes things easier.”

 

“You believe me?” she smiled in amazement, “Really, just like that?”

 

He shrugged, “Of course. I didn’t think you were, but we’re all going back to school in a month and he’s… he’s fond of you. Rum will defend you if people start making trouble: I needed to make sure you’re in the right, first.”

 

“Rum?” she asked, frowning, knowing who he meant but puzzling at the name. She still had no idea of Professor Gold’s forename: she’d got by on just ‘Gold’, ‘professor’ when teasing him.

 

Ridiculous, really, but it kept her mind focussed on boundaries.

 

“You know, my stepdad? Slight, skinny, grumpy guy, wears a lot of suits?”

 

“I know who you mean, I just… I guess I never asked what his first name is.”

 

“Huh.” Bay eyed her closely, “Why would that be, I wonder?”

 

“Because I have to look him in the eye and be all respectful in classes come January, and it’s easier this way.”

 

“Uh huh.” Bay nodded, but his eyes were piercing, “Okay. Respect. Gotcha.”

 

She sighed, “Is it short for something, then, or did he just have pirates for parents?”

 

Bay laughed, shook his head, “Yeah, Rum is just a nickname I made up when I was thirteen, and over the years I guess it stuck.”

 

There was a gleam in his eyes, mischief, and she gave him a dull look, “He hates it, doesn’t he?”

 

Bay smiled, “Make sure you always call him that.”

 

“It’ll really piss him off, won’t it?”

 

“You have no idea.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, “Although, coming from you he might even like it. You never know.”

 

He winked at her, and her jaw fell open, “What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?”

 

“What is what supposed to mean?” Belle was getting a little tired of hearing that voice over her shoulder, at the worst possible moment. Gold came around and Belle scooted around the booth to make space next to her.

 

It took Belle a moment to pull herself together and stop staring. It wasn’t her fault the man looked so good in dark purple, collar open without his tie, relaxed and smiling. She was only human: she couldn’t help but notice.

 

 Gold, of course, didn’t see. Bay, however, caught her eye and raised his eyebrows, looking away pointedly.

 

“I was just filling Belle in on correct terms of address,” Bay replied, easily, “Really, papa, I’m sure it wouldn’t kill you to share your forename once in a while. ‘Gold’ sounds like some kind of codename”

 

Gold didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but then his eyes narrowed, ”So what did you tell her instead?”

 

Bay smirked, “Why, papa, you seem suspicious.”

 

Gold snorted, “Only because leaving nice young women with you is like leaving milk out in the sun. I’d hate for you to be a bad influence.”

 

“See, Belle?” Bay looked at her, smiling smugly as if his point was proven, “He thinks you’re nice.”

 

“I think he only meant in comparison to you.” Belle snorted, “In which case mosquitos and wasps are also  _nice_.”

 

Gold snickered and smiled at her, “Well put, dear.”

 

“Thank you.” She smiled back, and tried not to blush.

 

“Well, there’s no need to be catty.” Bay said, wounded, “I was only trying to help.”

 

“With what, pray tell?” Gold turned to his stepson.

 

“Your reputation,” Bay explained, smile gleaming wicked, “Belle seems under the impression that you are some fearsome old don who demands professionalism and respect. I was just clearing some things up for her.”

 

Gold gave him a look, “I  _am_  fearsome, I will have you know, and I would like a little more respect if it’s not too much to ask.”

 

Bay snorted softly, “I think any chance of that from me is long dead, don’t you,  _Rum_?”

 

Gold’s face darkened, “You told her to call me that, didn’t you?”

 

“Well, it is your name, after all,” Bay said, “And after being stuck with us for over a week the girl deserves to be on a first name basis.”

 

“But why  _that_  name, Bailey?” he asked, almost plaintively, and Belle frowned at him in confusion.

 

“Why, what’s so bad about Rum?”

 

Gold sighed, turned to her, but his face was far softer when turned to her than on his wayward stepson, “The name  _itself_ , dear, isn’t bad at all. It’s the reason he invented it that makes me wish he’d just let it die.”

 

Bay chortled, “You want to hear this story, Belle, you really do.”

 

Gold gave her an almost pleading look, “You really don’t.”

 

“Ohhh yes you do!” Bay crowed, and then glanced at his watch. “And with that little pantomime moment, I’ll be off!”

 

“Wh-“ Belle looked up at him helplessly as he stood, “Where’re you off to?”

 

“My date is waiting outside.”

 

Gold smiled, benignly, “Go, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

 

Bay sighed, “You never let me have any fun.” He waved to Belle, “If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe trip home! I’ll see you in school.”

 

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Merry Christmas!”

 

Bay nodded, smiled, and was gone.

 

“I promise he isn’t always that annoying.” Gold grumbled, “I raised him better than that.”

 

Belle giggled, “You did a good job,” she said, “He’s nice. Friendly. Not mean or brooding.”

 

“And that would be how you can tell we’re not related by blood.” Gold smiled, “I don’t talk half that much.”

 

“Maybe if you did, I’d already know this story I’m supposed to be so curious about.” She countered, resting her head on her hand and smirking when he groaned and rolled his eyes.

 

This was too easy, she thought, being friends with him. Acting as if they  _could_  just be friends, without worrying about the fact that he was one of her teachers.

 

But she caught herself too often staring at Gold’s mouth while he talked, or entranced by his hands as they gestured when he got excited about something. Even if they had been able to be friends, Belle knew she wouldn’t be able to hold that for very long.

 

He sighed, “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

 

She spread her hands - a gesture she’d picked up from him, she realised - and shrugged, “Bay’s a bad influence, I guess.”

 

He shook his head, leaned back and looked at her, hard.

 

“Okay, why’re you watching me like you’re about to start stroking a white fluffy cat?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, slowly, “I’ll make you a deal.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He just smiled, nodded, “You explain to me, in full, what’s happening with you at school, and I’ll share my tale.”

 

She went still, leaned back, heart pounding. Her stomach plummeted, and she felt sick, her skin cold all over. She couldn’t tell him that story: he wouldn’t understand, and he’d hate her for it. Or worse: he’d see her again as a girl in need of saving and not the friend she thought he’d come to think of her as.

 

“Well, what’ve you heard about me at school?” she asked, cautiously, because she really, truly didn’t want to hate him too.

 

Anyone else might have looked uncomfortable asking - Bay certainly had - but Gold just held her gaze. “That what I witnessed the night of your roommate’s house party may not have been a one-off.”

 

“And if that were true,” she said, slowly, “What would you think?”

 

“I don’t know.” He replied, and while she admired his honesty, it was far from the strong statement of support she had hoped for.

 

“Then I don’t particularly feel like sharing,” she said, and couldn’t hide the bitter little note in her voice as she said it. That they could have spent so much time together recently, shared what she had hoped was some kind of connection, some kind of friendship, and to have him not trust her even when he knew the truth hurt her someplace deep and vital. “Thanks ever-so.”

 

“Have I said something to offend you, dear?” he asked, frowning.

 

“You know I didn’t hook up with Jefferson,” she said, keeping her voice down in public, “And I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

 

“It needs to be had.” He said, and she stared at him.

 

“Why?” she asked, masking the odd, childish hurt in her heart with irritation, “Teachers don’t need to know these things about their students, do they?”

 

He regarded her for a moment, eyebrows raised, “Because when we get back to Storybrooke, you’re going to get attacked, and you’ll need someone in your corner.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” she laughed, hollowly, “And you think that someone should be you, huh? Is this you playing the hero?”

 

“You’re in too deep with this, dear,” he said, a little coldly, warningly, “I’m only trying to help.”

 

“I don’t need your help.” She spat, “I need you to just trust me that I know what I’m doing.”

 

He smiled, but it was shallow and cool, his arms folded across his chest, “But that’s just the thing, Belle,” he said, “I don’t think you do know what you’re doing.”

 

“Do you actually think I’d…” she shook her head, “No, I can’t even ask that. I’m too bloody scared of the answer.”

 

She stood, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door without even a goodbye. She heard him scrambling to follow her, but didn’t turn around.

 

He caught her arm and turned her when they were out in the snow-covered street, and Belle could feel the fight coming on. There were storm clouds and crashing waves in his eyes, and he had never looked at her like that, with such emotion. Something less than fury and more than warmth. Something real and honest.

 

 _Good,_  she thought, the bravery in her winning over the girl scared of that strength of feeling,  _now we can get somewhere._

 

She’d had a faint hope that she could make it to the subway station and away before he caught her, but of course that was useless. But here he was, looking down at her, somewhat angry concern all over his face, and she

 

She reasoned that if she had to be confused and upset, then it was only fair he was too.

 

Except it wasn’t fair,  _none of it_  was fair, because he was treating her like she mattered, like she meant something, when of course it couldn’t be true. When in less than a month she’d have to go back to being just another girl, seen for an hour in class every couple of days, and he couldn’t look at her as he did now.

 

He couldn’t care about what happened to her, what she did or didn’t do, who she did and didn’t claim to have slept with. Not like he did now.

 

“Leave me alone, please.” She said, calmly, but her voice was shaking with the anger coursing through her.

 

“Will you calm down?” he demanded, anger winning over the confusion.

 

“Why should I?” she asked, tempted to shake her arm from his grasp but liking the feel of his warmth through her coat more. Even now, when she was so ready to cut herself off from him as she had from so many other people since the autumn, she couldn’t help but love that he touched her at all.

 

“Because you know you’re being utterly impossible.” He snapped, “I’m only trying to help you.”

 

“Well, what if I don’t fucking  _need_  your help, huh?” she was trying not to shout, but it was getting harder with every emotion added to the maelstrom inside her, uncaring that she was swearing at Professor Gold because right now, he wasn’t acting much like a professor at all. He was acting far too protective for that, “What if I made this situation on my own and _I like it this way_?”

 

“I don’t care whether you’re over the bloody moon about what people are saying,” he said, “And to be honest, in any other place, I’d not give a damn whether the rumours are true or false. You do as you please, you’re a grown woman after all. But this isn’t about petty students gossiping, and it’s not about your bloody  _vanity_ , either. This is about your  _future_ , Belle.”

 

“My  _vanity_?” she snarled, “ _That’s_  why you think this has happened? Because I’m a vain, selfish attention-whore?”

 

He gave her a hard look, “Sometimes, I don’t know whether physically  _shaking_  you would help.” He muttered, and then louder, “I have no earthy idea why you have made these choices, Belle, none at all. But I don’t believe for a second that you’re actually bed hopping, or taking money for it, or any of the other ridiculous lies you seem to revel in. Which means that you’re allowing the stories to circulate for their own sake. Tell me how vanity doesn’t come into that mix.”

 

“I’m trying to help people!” she protested, “Not that it’s any of your business what I do or don’t do.” She have a bitter, empty little laugh, “Hey, for all you know, the rumours are true and I’m Storybrooke’s favourite whore. What would you do then?”

 

“Even then you’d still be the best student I’ve had in years, and one of the strongest, bravest, most bloody-mindedly  _stubborn_  young women I’ve ever met!” He was right up in her face, eyes on fire and searing straight into hers, but she didn’t flinch.

 

“If all of that’s true,” she snapped back, “Then why won’t you let me make my own decisions and live with the consequences?”

 

“Because I can’t stand to see you get hurt. And if you face this alone, that’s what’s going to happen.”

 

“If I get hurt then it’s my own fault,” she said, her voice dropping but no less fierce as they came so close he could have rested his forehead to hers, had he been so inclined, “And you are not my father so why do you care so much?”

 

He took her completely by surprise, crashing his mouth against hers, his hands clutching at her forearms to hold her close against him. She gasped in surprise, his lips soft and warm against hers for all their ferocity, and he took advantage of her parted lips to sweep his tongue inside and plunder her mouth.

 

She was shaking all over, but her body took over from her startled mind and brought her hands to tangle in his hair, to hold his mouth in place as his lips slanted a little and caressed hers, almost tenderly. She couldn’t contain her little moan when he nibbled on her lower lip, sucked it into his mouth as he pulled back and ran his tongue along the bitten flesh.

 

She was breathing hard, face flushed and head reeling, as he released her with hands that suddenly flailed awkwardly, entirely unsure, it seemed, of what to do next.

 

She leaned up, kissed him again on impulse, her heart singing with every brush of his mouth against hers, but as her hands came to cup his face he pushed her away, shaking his head.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice, gravelly and low, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

 

“For what?” she asked, softly, desperate that he not ruin their moment together, that he not take what she had wanted for so long and tear it apart.

 

“We can’t… no, I’m sorry, I should have just left you alone.”

 

“No, you shouldn’t.”

 

“I can’t help you if I’m part of the problem, Belle.” He snapped, harshly.

 

“I never asked for your help.” She pointed out, “And I bloody well don’t need saving. Not by you or anyone else.”

 

“You need someone to pull you out of this childish, horrid mess you’ve created. And I can’t do that if I let other feelings get in the way.”

 

Her heart turned to stone, even as the idea that he had any feeling for her at all made her want to cry with happiness. He still thought she needed saving, and she knew enough to know that that was not where she wanted to begin. “Then stop trying to  _rescue me_. Let me sort out my own problems.”

 

“Belle, if anyone found out for a moment that we so much as spent time together, much less the fact that-“

 

“That you kissed me just then like you planned to push me against a wall and take me right there?” she suggested, anger warring with something else, something far deeper and scarier in her chest, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

 

He gave her a dull look, “One kiss is a reversible mistake. Anything more would prove correct every other stupid story you’ve allowed to circulate, and then there’s no more plausible deniability.”

 

“I never wanted to deny it. Any of it.” She pointed out, “And I don’t plan to.”

 

“One day you will,” he assured her, “One day you’ll grow up a bit and realise that there’s a difference between integrity and infamy.”

 

“Get lost, Professor.” She said, quietly, her voice as cold as the snow falling all around them. “We’re done.”

 

“Belle, I only want to-“

 

“Help. I know.” She nodded, “But even when that’s needed then you’ll still be the last person I call. You want me to grow up? Fine. No more stupid little girl crush on a  _bastard_  teacher. You need to leave now.”

 

He didn’t move, just stared at her, his expression too stunned to hold much of any other emotion. “Belle-“ he reached out for her, but she shook him away.

 

“Fine. I’ll leave.”

 

She stalked away from him, and didn’t look back. He didn’t follow, and she was proud that he would never know about the hot, fat tears that started rolling down her face the moment she turned the corner to the subway station, and he was out of sight.


	8. Chapter 8

_Yeah, so, Christmas that year kind of sucked. Well, the run up did, at least. Uncle David and I drove back home a day later, and if I sat there looking like my cat had died and not saying a word, then he didn’t comment on it. He’s kind of vague like that anyway, really._  
  
Emma didn’t ask, mama didn’t ask, even papa just gave me a look that said ‘there’s something wrong but it’s probably a girl thing so I won’t ask’ when I was oddly quiet that night.  
  
I wasn’t sad, or angry, or really any of the many emotions I probably should have been at that point were I a healthy, highly-functioning human being. I was just in a state of shock. Just quietly, coldly, and entirely shocked.

_In the space of a day, I’d fought with, made out with, and sort-of broken up with my English Lit professor._

_The same professor who flirted with me whenever he got the chance, in his odd, sarcastic, bitter little way, and caught me when I fell from a ladder, and had his stepson keep an eye on me. Who wanted to keep me safe._

_I’m sorry, but it’s a lot to process over a major family holiday. I was only glad that our very many relatives were all busy going to Grandpa’s in Florida, so it was a quiet Christmas by usual standards. Dad and David don’t get on with Grandpa. We don’t go when the rest of the family does._

_Christmas passed, and it snowed like the Arctic, and I spent a lot of time sitting and reading, or staring out the window, or doing all the other cliche things girls do when they’re lovesick and miserable._

_Emma found me crying once or twice, but she knew better than to ask._

_Jefferson was hanging around all holiday, anyway. Apparently their reunion when he came with his proposition had sparked something._

_I didn’t want to know. I was still pretty pissed at him for telling people behind my back, if I’m honest._

_I finally went back to school after the break ended, and I felt… well, if not fresh as a daisy and happy as a sunbeam, at least cleaner and freer than I had before. I assumed Gold would be gone again. I assumed Bay wouldn’t talk to me. I assumed Regina would be a pain in the backside and that I’d deal with all of it on my own._

_Well, one out of four isn’t bad, right?_

_—_

Belle came home to campus to dead, stony silence.

 

Everyone stared at her. Even people she didn’t know, people she’d never met before, stared at her.

 

“What’s going on?” she asked Abigail, as they walked to their psychology class, and everyone was watching them pass, “Have I grown a second head?”

 

“I guess winter break let them all think things over.” Abbie replied, her voice equally low, “That or the Ethics Committee have done something drastic.”

 

“Wouldn’t you know if they had?” Belle asked, frowning, “Being a key member and all?”

 

Abbie gave her a crooked smile as they turned into another corridor, and people were a little louder, less eerily focussed, there. “Well, they tend to remove you from the mailing list when you defend a supposed prostitute and march out of a meeting.”

 

Belle turned to stare at her friend, stopping dead as they entered the quad, “What?”

 

“I quit.” Abbie shrugged, “I mean I’m all for bake sales for cancer research and trying to reduce crime and drunkenness on campus and all, but they were getting… well, it was catty and personal and unkind. They wanted me to gather evidence from our room.” She admitted, and Belle felt a punch to the stomach at the idea. Regina was clearly more serious about this than she’d thought. “So,” Abbie sighed, smiled, “I told them where they could stick their investigations, and slammed the door behind me on the way out.”

 

“You did that for me?” Belle felt a lump in her throat, the feeling of true friendship and support when everything felt kind of horrible more than she could deal with without tears, “Really?”

 

“Of course. What’re friends for?”

 

Belle impulsively reached up and threw her arms around Abigail, catching her in a fierce hug, and she felt her friend hug her back just as tightly.

 

“Hey, can I get some of that?” the moment was shattered by a male voice over Abbie’s shoulder, and Belle could see August Booth and his friends lounging around the fountain. He was watching her with a lascivious grin, and winked when she caught his eye.

 

She felt suddenly unclean. She broke away from Abbie and looked at the ground, reality crashing back in.

 

Abbie, however, wasn’t satisfied with simply leaving things alone.

 

“Hey!” she called, “You have an opinion?”

 

August shrugged, “Just admiring the view, nothing wrong with that. It’s a free country.”

 

“Hey, Abbie, it’s okay,” Belle put a hand on her friend’s arm, pulling her back. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Like hell it doesn’t. I don’t care what you want people to think about you, Belle, he’s an asshole.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Belle agreed, “But it’s better not to rise to it.”

 

“You don’t want me to go over there and punch his stupid face in?” Abbie offered, “Because I would. Or I’d get Freddy on it, he’s handy with a wood axe.”

 

Belle gave a little giggle, and Abbie smiled, “Fine. Okay. But he comes any closer without your permission and you don’t get a say in what happens to him.”

 

“You don’t have to protect me, Abbie,” Belle said, steering them away toward their class, “I can handle horndog guys. Even make a healthy living out of them, sometimes.”

 

“It’s getting out of hand.” Abigail told her, bluntly, “I’m sorry, but it is. And it shouldn’t, and you should be able to say and do whatever you like, but Regina’s not having it. She’s talking about getting the police involved, about getting you kicked out, even, and I’m worried for you. We all are.”

 

“We-“ Belle frowned, trying to think of who could possibly be implicated in that, but Abigail pulled ahead and entered the lecture theatre, and Belle couldn’t ask anything more.

 

Abbie also left the lecture very quickly, as if she didn’t want Belle to catch her. Meaning that Belle was entirely alone when, on the walk back to her room, she spotted someone across the quad she had assumed she wouldn’t see again.

 

Professor Gold spotted her, too, and both of them were rooted to the spot, just staring at one another, for just a moment.

 

And then he seemed to force himself to relax, and smiled, waved a hand in greeting, and continued on with his walk.

 

Belle didn’t know how to react to that, except to realise that she’d have to face him in class the day after, and that he had apparently returned from his travels and intended to stay.

 

She really should have been prepared, she thought later, for what came next. Which was a loud knocking on her bedroom door, and Bay on the other side, hands in his pockets and grinning. “Hi, Belle.”

 

“Uh, hi.” She said, standing aside to let him in, too stunned to do anything else.

 

“So, I have movies and money for pizza,” Bay said, sitting down on the side of her bed and grinning, “What about you?”

 

“I have…” she shook her head, “A tonne of confusion about why you’re here.”

 

“We’re friends,” Bay ticked off on his fingers, “You’re sad for reasons we’re not going to discuss, and I need a place to hide out for a while. Therefore, here am I.”

 

“What if I had plans?” she asked, but she was smiling helplessly, “That don’t involve a pest sitting on my bed?”

 

“You don’t have plans,” Bay said, breezily, “It’s the first day of classes, your roommate said you’d be in, and Regina Mills has made the campus treat you as part-pariah, part-town harlot.”

 

“Yeah.” She said, defeated, and slumped down on the bed, “Well put.” She complimented him, weakly, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

 

“Okay, so maybe tact and diplomacy are more difficult when my world is ending,” he said, a touch melodramatically, “Poor me.”

 

She turned to him, eyes narrowed, “Bay, are we having a girls’ night in?”

 

“I believe we are.” He flashed her a grin, “That okay?”

 

She giggled, she couldn’t help it, but she looked at him suspiciously, “Wait, are you wanting to talk about boys and braid hair and watch  _Legally Blonde_?”

 

He gave her a dull look, “I have both  _Zorro_  movies, _Iron Man_ ,  _The Avengers_ , and all three  _Men In Black_ movies _._ Too much pink makes my eyes bleed. And I don’t braid, not without a lot of alcohol involved.”

 

“But we are going to talk about boys?”

 

“If you like.” He shrugged, “More like I’m going to talk and you’re going to be sympathetic and nod and pat my shoulder. Because I’m sorry but I don’t need to hear about your issues with my step-father.”

 

She blushed to the roots of her hair, “I don’t have issues with Professor Gold.”

 

“No,” he agreed, mildly, “You just decided to make out with him in the middle of Boston and then have a blazing row.”

 

“He made out with me.” She mumbled, “And anyway, that’s not even the point -“

 

“No,” Bay agreed, “The point is that he’s an ass and you’re incredibly stubborn, and you can work our your own problems. I refuse to play matchmaker between a girl young enough to be my little sister and my step-dad.”

 

“Well, when you put it that way…” she sighed, clasped her hands in her lap and leaned back against the wall behind her bed, “I’m sorry, Bay. You’re right, it’s creepy and weird, and I’m sorry for putting you in that position. It’s all over now, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

 

To her surprise he frowned at her, “Never said that. I just mean that I need more help than you do right now. And that Rum can sort his own shit out, just like you can.”

 

“Okay then,” she crossed her legs under her, and smiled expectantly, “What’s the matter with you? Girl trouble? The girl you were dating over winter break?”

 

He gave her a funny look, “Far from it. Graham’s being a dick and I have no idea what I did wrong.”

 

“Gra-“ the pieces fell together in Belle’s head, and she didn’t see how she hadn’t worked it out before, “Graham’s the guy you were dating. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

 

Bay nodded, “Yes, well, ‘were’ is the operative term, unfortunately. He’s being really weird - and I mean, weirder than you and Rum, which is ridiculous-

 

“Bay,” she sighed, “Stop talking about ‘me and Rum’.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’ll probably never speak to him again, and he’s equally pissed at me, and the school code of conduct kind of frowns on the idea anyway, and even without all that, Regina would have a field day. So there is no ‘me and Rum’.”

 

“Okay, fine,” he waved a hand, as if he didn’t agree but wasn’t willing to argue with her, “Anyway, Graham comes back from visiting his folks, and suddenly he’s all ‘we need to talk’ and ‘taking a break’, when he was… well, far more enthusiastic about being together only a few weeks ago.”

 

“So something’s changed,” she guessed, “Maybe his parents aren’t cool with it?”

 

Bay shook his head, “No, his family are pretty cool. I mean, I’ve never met them, but I asked him that when he first… and he said he’s already come out to them, and they’re good with it.”

 

“So not the visit home…” belle frowned, “Graham’s pretty… I mean, he’s pretty, but he’s not particularly… you’re the brains of the outfit. Are you sure he’s not just got himself confused?”

 

“Did you just call my not-boyfriend a dumbass?” Bay narrowed his eyes, “Shall we review your wonderful taste in men?”

 

Belle laughed and swatted him with a pillow, “You know what I mean, Bay. He’s very very pretty, and I’m sure he’s a great guy, but he’s not the brightest bulb in the box.”

 

“But he hasn’t been cruel to you about the rumours, has he?” Bay pointed out, “In fact, I asked him about that when he saw us hanging out in Boston, and he didn’t even understand why it would be a problem. He’s not stupid he’s just… very straightforward. If you haven’t hurt him or someone he loves, he’s good with you.”

 

“You’re a little bit in love with him, aren’t you?” Belle asked, her heart sinking a little because, in her current state, she wouldn’t wish love on anyone.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Bay brushed her off, “I must have upset him somehow.”

 

“I thought-“ Belle looked down, tried to work out how to phrase this, “I thought he was… with Regina Mills. You know? Most of campus thinks he’s her boy-toy. Which is apparently acceptable since he’s technically a mature student now…”

 

“And all of campus thinks you’re a whore.” Bay snapped back, “Doesn’t make it true.”

 

“Are you telling me he and Regina never had anything?” Belle narrowed her eyes, “Really?”

 

“It’s over. I asked him and he told me: they had a thing in the summer, but he broke it off the moment he met me. And considering the death glares I get from that bitch whenever she sees me, and how Graham can’t lie to save his life, I’m inclined to believe him.”

 

“She couldn’t have gotten to him while you were away, could she?” Belle asked, quietly.

 

“He wouldn’t cheat.”

 

“And if she threatened his place at University? What then?”

 

Bay was silent a moment, and then sighed, letting all his breath out as he sagged back beside her, running a hand through his fluffy dark hair. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

 

“Let’s just watch a movie,” Belle said, gently, “Forget stupid men exist.” She looked sideways at him, “Present company excluded, of course.”

 

He swatted her arm, and she laughed, and the tension broke just a little.

 

Belle couldn’t help wondering, though, throughout the night, if Regina’s hostility wasn’t bound up in more than simple self-righteousness. If she knew how close Belle and Gold had become - and close was the right word, even if between his attitude and her stubbornness they were no longer that way - and knew that she’d lost her boyfriend because of Gold’s stepson…

 

Belle didn’t want to think about what could happen to her, if the whole school would testify to her soliciting on campus, with a senior faculty member on the warpath against her.

 

She just had to remember that she had done nothing wrong, and that she had her roommate, a teacher and a junior staff member to corroborate.

 

Even if her roommate was a close friend, and she had broken several college rules by kissing the teacher more than once, and the junior staff member was also a friend and the teacher’s son.

 

It wasn’t an inspiring collection, even if she hadn’t already rejected any help that came her way.

 

But Regina might be satisfied, she thought desperately, with having ruined her reputation. Belle had lost her best friend, and her anonymity, and there were even lecturers looking at her funny now. Surely that would be enough. Surely she wouldn’t do anything more official, more lasting or difficult to overcome, than that.

 

Nobody was that heartless.

 

Still, even after Bay had left, and Abbie had come in from her date with Freddy, and Belle was trying to sleep, she couldn’t quite relax.

 

It got worse in the morning, when Belle left their room to use the bathroom down the hall and caught sight of their door. She felt punched in the stomach, winded, and was thankful she remained upright as she staggered back inside.

 

Someone had written ‘whore’ over the wood in red paint. It covered the door and dripped onto the carpet beneath, still a little damp: recent.

 

Belle felt like sobbing. Abbie was ready to murder someone when she saw it, muttering about judgemental assholes and revenge and private property. She dealt with the RA down the hall, asking if they knew who it was; she dealt with getting it cleaned up and making sure everyone knew she’d find who did it and make them pay.

 

Belle just sat on her bed, still in her pajamas, and clutched her stomach.

 

It had happened: the whispers had become screams, and she was a target.

 

Well, she thought, pragmatically, it had to happen eventually. She’d wanted to be known, to be someone other than she’d been before, to have a reputation - even a bad one - rather than being lost and ignored.

 

She wouldn’t be forgotten, now, at least.

 

Abbie called several people, Freddy and Ruby - who didn’t come over, but Abbie reported sounded more sympathetic than she had before - and others Belle didn’t ask about.

 

She got Bay’s number from Belle’s phone, but before she could call him too, Belle had got up to leave.

 

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, simply, “I have English at three anyway, so I’ll just go through the park and circle back.”

 

“Belles,” Abbie said, gently, “We’re the victims here. Someone came after you for something you didn’t do. Hell, even if you had done it it wouldn’t be cause for an attack like that.”

 

Belle sighed, suddenly weary beyond comprehension, “Look, I didn’t get jumped or anything. Someone got drunk and decided to be an asshole. It happens.”

 

“Belle-“

 

“Do what you want, it’s your door too, but I’m fine.” Belle brushed off her sympathy, unable to deal with it in the face of the fact that it was her mess, her problem, and Abbie should be mad at her, not trying to make it better.

 

She couldn’t deal with people trying to help her, when she knew she didn’t deserve their kindness. She’d fucked things up all on her own, and she’d reaped a lot of benefits from doing so. She had to live with the consequences as well as the rewards.

 

She left, and went for her walk. The day was frozen, frost still clinging to the grass and the trees in the park, but it was at least quieter than the hustle and bustle of the main campus.

 

She almost managed to forget that, in this state, she would have to face Professor Gold. In a professional context, student and teacher. She hoped to God that he’d only been around to catch up on paperwork the day before, and it would he Bay taking the seminar.

 

But no, she arrived in the classroom, and found Gold sat behind his desk, watching people enter and sipping his tea.

 

She didn’t look at him, and she didn’t feel his eyes on her. She found a new seat at the back of the room, next to Eric Seaborn, and kept her head in her notes through the class. She didn’t raise her hand, and he didn’t call on her.

 

She thought, as she stood to leave, that she’d managed to avoid a potentially horrible situation.

 

Until she was leaving, and in her haste she bumped past the desk. Gold’s teacup, balanced precariously on a stack of papers, fell and hit the ground with a little clatter.

 

She cursed under her breath as the people behind her gave her an accusing look. She glanced up, and saw that Gold had stood, his eyes fixed on her. They stared at each other a moment, silently, and Belle felt her mouth go dry as he licked his lips, as lost for words as she.

 

She crouched as fast as she could, and picked the cup up in her hands. There was a small chip in the side, no bigger than the tip of her index finger, and she wordlessly handed it to Gold. Their fingers brushed in the middle, and she moved back as fast as she could.

 

“Sorry.” She muttered, and he nodded, still staring at her. He looked as if he’d like to say something, but couldn’t work out how to start.

 

She could relate: she couldn’t think of anything to say, either.

 

“It’s just a cup.” He said, finally.

 

She nodded, and practically ran from the room. She hoped that the people around them hadn’t noticed how fast her heart was beating, how the blood had rushed to her cheeks. How she was certain his eyes had darted to her mouth and back, before she’d run away.

 

But she didn’t go back, find him alone, ask him what was going on. She didn’t do the brave thing, and admit that she still wanted him, and that perhaps - perhaps - she couldn’t face all of this alone.

 

She’d made her bed, and now she was going to lie in it.

 

—

 

_I think me being stubborn and generally wrong, and not accepting anyone’s help, is probably the reason things got so out of hand, that second semester. No one ever tells you that just because you made the mess all on your own, doesn’t mean you have to clear it up by yourself as well._

_And they also don’t warn you that just because it looks and feels like you’re the centre of the problem doesn’t mean you started everything._

_But again, I’m getting ahead of myself._

_No one spraypainted our door again, thank god, although the little imprint of the word remained for a while after the cleaners got rid of it. I was only thankful that Abbie and I had elected to move back into dorms second year, rather than finding private accommodation: at least someone else would clean up the graffiti for me._

_Now, what has to be understood, is that I was incredibly messed up and confused at this point. I didn’t know how I felt about Gold, I didn’t know if finding out was worth the extra trouble it could cause later on. I didn’t know why Regina had decided to target me, out of everyone doing bad things on campus. I didn’t know how much longer Abbie and Bay would stand with me, or if Ruby would ever speak to me again._

_In the midst of all of that, I was just exhausted._

_I wanted things back the way they’d been before, when this was a fun little way to piss off the righteous idiots who made my business their own. Back when I was happy to just sashay on past and not care that people stared._

_Now I was dealing with a real problem, if Abbie was right: Regina was gunning for me, and everything I did seemed to make things worse._

_But maybe I would have been able to ignore it. Go silent, turn off the engines and hope her radar would miss me, and I could just vanish into the scenery again. Maybe that would have worked._

_Except I’m not one to go silent. I’m more one to explode in a shower of flames and take out half a city block with me._

_Sometimes I really wish someone would just sedate me for my own good._

—

 

“Hey, Charmin!” Belle stopped dead in the hallway, August Booth’s voice echoing through the empty hallway.

 

“Hey, Booth.” She said, without turning, and heard him running to catch up with her. “What’s up?” she sighed, holding her books a little closer to her chest. To his credit, he didn’t check her out. He was looking at her face: that was an odd amount of progress.

 

“Nothing much,” August shrugged, “New semester’s already kicking my ass.”

 

Belle laughed a little, “Yeah, classes seem to get harder every new season.” She agreed, “And I kind of wish I hadn’t picked up psych.”

 

August smiled, “I’m sure you’ll be really good at it. It’s all intuition, right? Knowing what people feel? You’ll do great!”

 

Belle blushed - she couldn’t remember the last time someone had honestly complimented her, even someone as morally-grey as August Booth - “There’s a lot of stats involved. Makes my head spin a little.”

 

“Maybe you’re working too hard?” August suggested, “I always see you in the Library.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” She agreed, uneasily, “To be honest, the Library’s the best place for me at the moment.”

 

“Yeah, campus is a little rough this year.” August nodded, “But it’s no reason not to have some fun anyway, right?”

 

“Right.” Belle wasn’t sure where he was going with this, so she didn’t say anything more, waiting for him to continue.

 

“So, ah…” August looked at his feet, nervously, and then gave her a smile that, she supposed, was supposed to be devastating. He was rather good looking, she mused, in a stubbly kind of way. And she needed to start being into guys who weren’t far too old for her, who were safe and attainable. “Would you like to go… have fun with me? This weekend?”

 

“Hm,” she thought about it, but she kept her smile on, “What kind of fun?”

 

“Well, there’s a new steakhouse on fifth, I thought we could go get some dinner, maybe go for a walk after…”

 

“Then stare at the stars and hold hands and read bad poetry?” she teased, but she hoped he wouldn’t be offended or upset. It sounded nice, actually, to go on an actual date with a guy her own age. Even one who she had had nothing but disdain for for the past six months.

 

People could change, after all: maybe he felt bad about being so rude to her. Maybe he’d realised he didn’t want to be mean anymore.

 

“Hm, something like that. I thought we could take a book of fairytales and find a wishing well and then maybe finish it up with a satanic ritual or two.”

 

She giggled for real, and he smiled, and he was very good looking, wasn’t he? “Okay, seriously,” he said, “Steakhouse and a walk, and then we’ll see. How does that sound?”

 

“That sounds great, actually. Pick me up at eight?”

 

He beamed at her, “Saturday night,” he took her hand, and pressed a very courtly, old-fashioned kiss to the back of it. She could feel the wet patch when she pulled away, but she tried not to be disgusted: she wanted to like him, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

“You’re going out with Motorcycle Boy?” Abigail raised an eyebrow, arms folded, and Belle turned from her perusal of her wardrobe to face her friend.  
  
“August is a nice guy,” Belle corrected, “And we’re going out tonight, yes.”  
  
“August Booth. The aforementioned Motorcycle Boy. Who, for the past year and a half, has been a douchebag on a massive scale to everyone we know. That guy?”  
  
“He asked me out!” Belle protested, “And it sounded… nice.”  
  
“Of course it sounded nice!” Abbie cried, “He’s a philosophy major, his whole life is based around making bullshit sound deep and meaningful!”  
  
“Did you ever think,” Belle retorted, “That perhaps I’m going just because it was nice to be asked? Come on Abbie, every guy I meet these days only wants to give me a wad of cash to say I put out.”  
  
“And who’s fault is that?” Abbie muttered, and at the look on Belle’s face she instantly took it back, “Oh, God, Belles, I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, you’re right.” Belle said, “It’s my fault. I started this, and I don’t regret it… mostly. But I haven’t-“ she sighed, remembering that no one, not even Abbie, knew about her meetings with Gold over the break, and said, “I haven’t even been on a date since Greg left. Not really. And wouldn’t being in a relationship help to get rid of the worst of what people are saying about me?”  
  
“I guess…” Abbie chewed her lip, “But Belle… does he want a relationship? Or does he just believe the rumours?”  
  
“He was nice to me when he asked. All… I don’t know, restrained? He was really sweet. It’ll be fine, Abbie, don’t worry.”  
  
“Fine. It’s your life. But I’m worried.”  
  
“Fine. But I’m not so please just help me pick an outfit?”  
  
Abbie nodded, and the conversation was dropped, turning instead to an intent work through of Belle’s closet.  
  
—  
  
Abigail Midason is a sly bitch, I’ll give her that. In the best way, of course. Most of the people in this story turned out to be selfish or cruel or just plain cowardly one way or another: no one was innocent. But Abbie… Abbie just saw a friend who needed her and stuck by. There aren’t many others I can say that about.  
  
And of course there were things she wasn’t telling me. Oh, lord, I could write a whole chapter of this thing about the things she knew she wasn’t telling me. It could turn into a whole ‘I know she knows I know she knows but she doesn’t know I know’ thing.  
  
Leave it at this: for a blonde with a rich daddy and a mansion in the suburbs, Abigail Midason knows her shit.  
  
And I really don’t. Well, maybe I know a little better now, but back then? No clue whatsoever what I was doing. I had reached a point, by January, where I was basically running off instinct, and I’ll admit it, not just a little bit of wishful thinking. I wasn’t thinking about what was really happening, or how much trouble stupid little mistakes could cause. I was reacting to events as they happened without a thought of the bigger picture.  
  
August was an asshole to me for a year and a half, but then I had been an invisible nerd in the first year, the kind of girl called ‘cute’ from across the library and never approached, and was now a total ho in the second. And neither of those people were really me, not really. So why wouldn’t August be the same?  
  
What if beneath that incredibly fake ‘mysterious’ persona was just a nice, normal guy waiting to get out? What if he was taking a chance asking me out, hoping I’d understand?  
  
I understood everything a lot clearer, after that night. It was one of those Big Moments where the chapter ends and you’re left staring at a new one, with fuck all idea what to do next.  
  
—  
  
“You look beautiful.” August said, and Belle smiled, more embarrassed than anything else, as he looked her up and down and nodded appreciatively. She’d not done much, in the end, thinking it was better to go down the casual dressy top and nice jeans route than go for a little dress and look the part people expected. She wasn’t here as Belle the Campus Whore, after all. She was being Just Belle tonight, and that meant minimal effort.  
  
August didn’t seem to mind. He himself had done little - she doubted he’d even shaved, although his stubble was something she felt he rather prided himself on so she wasn’t surprised - although he had traded from a t-shirt to a button down for the occasion.  
  
He looked good. Not mouth-dry, knees shaking, heart pounding good, but attractive by any normal standard. And Belle now wanted, more than anything, to be normal again.  
  
“Thanks.” She smiled, and almost wanted to bob a curtsey to break the tension that had settled. Because that wouldn’t be weird, she thought, mentally cursing herself.  
  
“So, ready to go in?” he asked, and gestured to the door to the restaurant.  
  
“Yeah, let’s go.” She smiled and he held his hand out for her to take. She smiled a little wider - not fake, she refused to believe her own smile was faked - and let him lead her to the  door, and even open it for her and help her inside.  
  
“Wow,” she said, as he followed her inside, “A real gentleman.”  
  
“Well, this is a date first, isn’t it?” he smiled, and seemed pleased with himself, but Belle said nothing.  
  
“Does that mean I don’t need my wallet with me?” she asked, and then wanted to bite her own lip to keep herself quiet: that had been blunt to the point of rude.  
  
But August just laughed, shook his head, “No, I think we both know I’m the only one who needs cash on hand tonight.”  
  
“Okay.” She smiled, flattered, and tried to work past the strange, unexplained unease growing in her stomach, “Thanks.”  
  
They were seated, and Belle tried not to think about how he was buying her meal, about how she felt a little indebted to him for it. This was a date, this was how things were done. It wasn’t a big deal.  
  
At least, even if it turned out they were as different as she had always assumed, as ill-suited as it was possible to be, she’d have gotten a free meal out of it. She felt a sudden pang for Ruby: she had always been the one to come out with things like that, as a half joke.  
  
But from what Belle had heard, Ruby and Pete were on the rocks and she was spending more and more time with Archie Hopper. Belle wished - and she must have wished for a while, although she hadn’t noticed before - that she’d been around to see that. But they hadn’t spoken since the bitchy little spat in the corridor months back, so there was no use getting weepy over it now.  
  
They ordered quickly, both of them already knowing what they wanted, but Belle couldn’t stop thinking just a little about how she wished she could know what Ruby would think of this. For all that she was a little much sometimes, and apparently more judgemental than Belle would ever have believed, Ruby had always been there for her.  
  
It was weird dating a new guy without her friend’s take on it.   
  
“You okay?” August asked, and Belle knew that some of what she’d felt must have shown on her face. And shown fairly clearly, if August had noticed.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, just… I don’t know, lost in thought I guess.”  
  
“Ah,” August nodded, “yeah, that tends to happen. I get like that when I go to the woods, you know? Just wander through the trees, away with the fairies.”  
  
“Yeah.” Belle nodded, despite knowing that half of that was pure bullshit. August was usually too busy partying with the wildest crowd he could find, from the sound of it. “Where do you like to walk?”  
  
“The forests around campus are good,” August grinned, “There’s a wishing well just outside town that’s a good place to stop and read for a bit. I went up there yesterday with a friend.”  
  
Belle nodded, a little more convinced than before, although part of her still suspected that he’d asked someone how to sound impressive to a girl with more than two braincells to rub together and they’d given him things to say.  
  
 It wasn’t fair to him, she chided herself, to judge everything he said so sceptically. If she was going to act like this she might as well walk home now and forget the whole thing.  
  
No one was going to be Gold. No one was going to say exactly what he’d say or act exactly how he would. And that was a good thing, she reminded herself: all comparisons to him should be positive or not made at all.  
  
“Oh?” she asked, trying to sound intrigued, “How far out is it?”  
  
“A mile or so. If you just head out from main street and keep heading upward you reach it eventually. There’s all sorts of cool myths about it too.”  
  
“Oh, what, Bloody Mary killed herself there and haunts the place?” Belle teased.  
  
“Something like that,” August gave her a mysterious smile, and Belle had to admit he was kind of hot like that. With a genuine mystery rather than his usual pretension. “They say it returns things that were lost. You know, heirlooms, talents, girlfriends…”  
  
“That sock that you have no idea where it is but it vanished in the laundry?” Belle suggested, smiling for real this time, and August let out a little laugh.  
  
“Yeah, things like that. The sock thing is all my roommate Jim’s fault, though. He collects them.”  
  
“Socks?”  
  
“Women’s socks. Like a stalker thing,” Belle was almost believing him when he smirked, “He smells them sometimes, you know. Just inhales like a creepy bastard.”  
  
“Shut up,” she giggled, swatting his arm playfully, “Jim… isn’t he Archie Hopper’s brother?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so. A few years younger and a whole lot cooler.”  
  
“Archie’s really nice!” Belle defended, a little lamely, but she felt a certain amount of protectiveness all the same. Ruby liked him, enough that she might leave Pete for him. That counted for something.  
  
“He’s nice enough, yeah,” August agreed, “But still, he’s a total geek.”  
  
“Says the boy who goes up to the wishing well to read broodingly,” Belle retorted, teasing smile matching a certain amount of genuine irritation, “Because that’s what all the cool kids are doing.”  
  
August laughed, easily, “Come on, Belle, I like the guy. But he wears sweater-vests and is always home by nine-thirty and carries that umbrella everywhere with him. He’s a bit of a dweeb.”  
  
“Better a dweeb than an asshole.” Belle murmured, but he didn’t hear her, and she had to remind herself to be nice. To not let the discontent she’d felt almost all year build into waspishness. To not scare off a guy who was trying to be nice, trying to give her a good night out.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” August smiled as if she didn’t understand something but he wasn’t wasting time explaining, and raised his glass, “I’ll drink to that.”  
  
She smiled, a tight little smile, and clinked her glass with his.  
  
The rest of the evening went smoother, discussing classes and mutual acquaintances, nothing of any depth or substance. Belle was trying, she really was, and finally they got onto literature and she saw a brief glimmer of hope that perhaps they did have something in common.  
  
“You’re taking Lit 201 this year, right?” he asked, and she nodded, swallowing her mouthful before answering.  
  
“Yeah, but the work load’s tough this semester.”  
  
“Professor Gold still runs that course, doesn’t he?” Belle nearly choked on her lemonade, but managed to swallow and nod.  
  
“Yeah, he does.”  
  
August chuckled, “He’s a mean old bastard, isn’t he? Man, I was in his class when I was a sophomore, and he’d shut me down every point I tried to make. Then set more homework than the rest of my classes combined.”  
  
“He’s tough,” Belle agreed, “But if you play by his rules you can learn a lot.”  
  
August laughed, “I ended up sitting at the back of the class napping through most of his classes. Bastard let me, too.”  
  
“Gold knows a lost cause when he sees one.”  
  
“You want to talk about a lost cause? That guy’s career. He can’t keep treating students like that, you know?”  
  
“Like what? Like they can do their own damn work?”  
  
“Like he’s too busy having fun making everyone else look stupid to actually teach anything!” August stared at her, “And anyway, why do you care so much?”  
  
“I don’t!” she protested, and she heard the lie and hoped that August didn’t realise it, “I just… Gold’s one of the few professors I actually respect, you know? Like, I took a philosophy class last year with Professor Blue? Hooker heels and a push up bra, every class.”  
  
She hoped that that would lead August off topic, and was both relieved and disappointed when it worked perfectly. “Ah, first year,” he gave a smile that was all lechery, “Front row seats, too.”  
  
Belle rolled her eyes, “What’re the other philosophy lecturers like?”  
  
“They’re okay, I guess, I don’t know. I mean, Professor Mills is the course organiser, and she’s kinda… intense, you know? Ethics committee and shit like that. There’s a reason I didn’t take a morality class this year. She and Blue share them and… no.”  
  
“Regina Mills does ethics classes? You’d think she’d branch out a little.” Belle commented, and August nodded.  
  
“Yeah, well, between Mills’ general crazy and Blue’s spiel on being ‘honest, brave and unselfish’, it kind of just makes anyone who hears it want to move to Phuket and never do anything legal again.”  
  
Belle laughed, genuinely, because it was nice to have someone else agree with her assessment of Professor Mills. Too many people seemed to be siding with her, lately, and Belle was becoming sick and tired of being a strangely popular kind of pariah.  
  
Finally, they finished their meal, and August paid, smiling all the while. There was something else in his smile now, something Belle didn’t recognise, but it made her a little uneasy. When she twisted to get into her coat, she could see August’s eyes rest on her chest for a moment too long, but once again she tried to be positive, to look past it. She’d had a decent evening, all told, and it wouldn’t do to be too picky when it came to guys who were willing to actually date her.  
  
They made conversation as they walked to the car, but Belle couldn’t really focus. She wanted to go home, and knew that if she did she could probably remember this night fondly, and even want to see him again. She’d give him a chance, look past some of what he’d said tonight.  
  
“So…” she smiled, awkwardly, wondering if she was to walk home or if he’d offer her a ride.  
  
“So…?” he frowned, as if he didn’t understand, “Get in, then?”  
  
“Oh, thanks.” She smiled, nodding, and he got the door for her, before his voice stopped her in her tracks.  
  
“I should ask, actually, is this where you start charging?”  
  
She froze, pulled her leg out of the car to stand and face him, “I’m sorry?”  
  
August laughed, “Well, I paid for dinner, so…” he dug around in his pocket, and brought out a roll of cash. Belle’s heart sank, but she tried not to show it: at least he’d been nice and bought her dinner first. “This should cover it.”  
  
She took it in a slightly shaking hand, and nodded, tried to sound businesslike, “So, uh, what happened next tonight? What do people hear?”  
  
“Well, there’s two hundred bucks there,” August smirked and leaned in, “So whatever that’ll buy me.” He pressed his mouth to hers, heavy and wet and too hot, and started kissing her a messily, demandingly.  
  
She pulled away, frowning in disgust, her heart racing in both anger and a little bit of fear, “No, August, that’s not how this works.”  
  
“Sure it is,” he smiled, unperturbed, “Come on, no one’s around, it’s okay,” he kissed her again, and this time his hands were clamped around her arms, hauling her against him. Everything was hot, heavy, oppressive, and she couldn’t break free. She went limp, but he kept kissing her, his tongue thrust hard and deep in her mouth, to the point where she thought she might not be able to breathe.  
  
His grip relaxed as she slumped against him, and she took the opportunity to push him away hard, staggering backward and wiping her mouth on her hand, “August!” she shouted, “I’m not really a whore, okay?” her voice cracked but she soldiered on regardless, “I mean, I’m telling everyone I do this stuff but really-“  
  
“Hey, hey,” August’s hands were back on her shoulders, “It’s okay, I’m not a cop, I won’t tell.” He kissed her again, pressing her against the car and pinning her with his body weight. One hand came to grab at her breast, hard, while his mouth covered hers and she stopped struggling so hard, trying instead to wriggle so she could maybe ram a knee into his groin at the right moment.  
  
She could barely think for the heavy, too-hot sensation of August’s sluggish tongue in her mouth and his hands all over her, greedy and pressing too hard, and she couldn’t even fight him off, he was too strong, holding her too tightly.  
  
“There.” August breathed, pleased with himself when he finally pulled a little way off her, his hands digging far too hard into her arms, “That’s better, right? Now let’s get in the car and-“  
  
“Let go of her.” A voice, tight and clipped, broke through the panicked haze, and Belle glimpsed an impossible face over August’s shoulder as August looked around himself.  
  
“Back the fuck off, grandpa.” He snapped, but had no chance to say anything more before something hard hit him around the side of the head, and he staggered backward, off her, clutching his head, “What the hell, man?”  
  
She didn’t even stop to see who had saved her: Belle got away from the car as fast as possible, and turned on her supposed-date. “I am not a prostitute!” she yelled, too angry to think of anything more clever, and then drew her fist back, calling on any self-defence class her mama and Emma had ever dragged her to to slam her fist into his face. Her hand hurt like blazes, but she was too angry and too wired to notice.  
  
She rammed her foot up between his legs. He collapsed on the floor in a heap, and as the red mist cleared, Belle had no idea where that had come from.  
  
She supposed her family must have finally rubbed off on her.  
  
“And even if I was,” she panted, leaning down into his face and resisting the urge to stamp on his neck, “You’d still have no right to do shit like that, asshole.” She kicked him once more hard in the stomach, and he stayed down.  
  
“Nicely said, pet.” Her saviour muttered from behind her, and she froze.  
  
Gold.  
  
She spun to face him, too much emotion clouding her brain. She was angry and terrified and ready to burst into tears, and yet so happy to see him she could have thrown herself at him right there and then. “Thanks. I have… no idea where that came from.” She nodded, half-laughing, and hoped he wouldn’t notice the strained little note in her voice.  
  
He took another step forward, toward her, and opened his arms a little. She didn’t even think: she fell forward, and let him hold her close for a little, hand behind her head soothingly, the other around her waist.  
  
“I didn’t need saving.” She muttered, stubbornly, “But thank you.”  
  
“Dearie,” he chuckled, pulling back enough to look her in the face “I can see that.” He nodded to August, who was just starting to stagger to his feet, “I don’t think I could have done better myself.”  
  
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She said, her stomach suddenly turning in fear. Yes, she had taken him down, rage and panic lending her strength she hadn’t known she had, but she couldn’t have done it if Gold hadn’t knocked him off of her first.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Gold murmured, taking her gently by her arms and leading her quickly to the nearest trashcan. He gathered her hair behind her neck, and she stood for a moment, hoping it would pass.  
  
Then she retched, and Gold eased her through it, stroking her back comfortingly as she emptied her stomach.  
  
She hadn’t been so scared, nor so angry, in years. But the thought of what might have happened, what August might have managed to get away with had Gold not been there to snap him out of it… Belle had heard stories about girls who had got drunk with the wrong guy, or been lead along and tricked like that, but it all made it horrifyingly real.  
  
But what had made her sick, what made her still shake even as Gold handed her his handkerchief and she cleaned herself up, was that it felt like  it was partly her fault. She had encouraged the rumours, and had allowed herself to get into this situation, after all.  
  
“Better?” Gold asked, finally, concern written all over his face, and she nodded.  
  
“Yes, I think so. Thank you.”  
  
“It’s quite alright, don’t worry.” He smiled, and she had missed his smile, the safety and warmth that seemed to pour off him, “Do you need for me to call someone?”  
  
“No, no…” she shook her head: she couldn’t face Abbie in this state, nor her family, not before she worked out how the hell she felt about everything that had happened. Gold felt like the only person who made sense, the only person she wanted to be near, “Just… let me sit down a moment?”  
  
“Of course.” He nodded, and lead her carefully a few bays down, to what she assumed was his car. A sleek, vintage, black Cadillac: she was both impressed and unsurprised. He opened the passenger door and she sat down, but he didn’t close the door, and she kept her feet on the outside. She breathed, deeply, head in her hands, and he just leaned back against the next car over and waited.  
  
She thought he’d probably wait all night, if she asked him to.  
  
He was a good friend, kissing in Boston and fights and inappropriate academic connection notwithstanding. She knew without a doubt she’d rather be kicked out of school for having too close a relationship with him, than have kept things professional and not had him there to save her tonight.  
  
“Thank you.” She said again, when she trusted herself to speak and form complex sentences without crying or speaking nonsense. “You saved me.”  
  
“Anyone would need saving, dear,” he said, gently, as if sensing her discomfort at having been caught in such a bad situation, “And Mr Booth is hardly small and weak.”  
  
“Where is he?” she glanced about in panic, suddenly certain he was right behind them, ready to wreak vengeance.  
  
“I saw him drive away in the opposite direction,” Gold waved a hand, “I assume he’s gone to lick his wounds. If he has any sense, he’ll keep his mouth shut about this evening.”  
  
“But he’s gone?” she checked.  
  
“Gone.” Gold nodded, “You’re safe.”  
  
“I just… God.” She groaned, “It was a date. A normal, healthy, honest-to-god date. And then it just… stopped. He was ready to… no, I think he would have stopped. Once it got through to him that… yeah, he would have stopped.”  
  
“Most likely,” Gold agreed, “But from what little I saw he’d already had his chance to cease and desist with no hard feelings.”  
  
Belle gave a choked little giggle, “You nailed him with your cane, didn’t you?”  
  
“That I did.” He nodded, a gleam in his eyes, and she gave another little laugh, “He was slobbering and pawing at you, and you didn’t seem to appreciate the experience.”  
  
“He… he paid me.” Belle pulled out the roll of bills in her shaking hand, and saw Gold’s face cloud over, an almost terrifying darkness descending, “I would’ve given it back to him, but-“  
  
“You were a little preoccupied being shaken and sick and generally upset.” Gold nodded, voice hard and tight with anger, “I understand.”  
  
“I’ll get Abbie to drop it by his dorm room when I see her.” Belle nodded, “He can’t exactly complain to anyone about losing two hundred dollars to a girl he thought was a whore.”  
  
“Let’s hope not.” Gold nodded, and then took a breath, as if something had been decided, as if letting go of his rage, “Do you need a lift somewhere, love?”  
  
Belle thought about it. She couldn’t go back to her room, couldn’t face the thought of Abbie’s sympathy, the feeling that she’d screwed up and been so stupid not to listen to her. And August… if August decided to drink, came looking for his money’s worth, her room was where he’d look. She wouldn’t be safe there, wouldn’t feel safe there, not tonight.  
  
And it was too far to drive home to her family, a good three hours on a good day, and Ruby was unlikely to want to put her up for the night.  
  
“No.” She said, finally, “Thanks.”  
  
He frowned, “Then what do you plan to do?”  
  
“I…” she thought, gave a helpless, mirthless little laugh, “I have no fucking clue. Home would mean questions I don’t feel like answering, plus if August felt like a return trip that’d be where he’d go… family is too far and it’s not like I have friends willing to take me in.”  
  
“You can’t stay in a parking lot all night.” He argued, and she knew he was right. She’d have to go back to the dorm eventually, and the thought made her heart sink. “I don’t suppose…”  
  
“What?” her head jerked up at the oddly uncertain tone to his voice.  
  
“Well… I have a couch. You’d be welcome to hide out there until you work things out.”  
  
She laughed, disbelieving, “Regina Mills would have a field day.”  
  
“Well, we’d have to be discreet about it. But there’s no rule against professors looking after students in distress, and you’re right: if Mr Booth were looking for revenge your room would be the first place he’d look.”  
  
“Someone attacked my room the other day,” Belle said, quietly, “Security isn’t great.”  
  
“Then… maybe this is the best idea?”  
  
“Yes.” She took a deep breath, and swung her legs into the car, “Just for the night.”  
  
“Just for the night.” He nodded, and Belle’s heart raced as he got in the other side and slammed the door, turning the key in the ignition and driving away.


	10. Chapter 10

They drove in silence most of the way, both happy not to force conversation. Belle, for her part, didn’t want to say any more: they’d already said far too much, and it was too easy, she felt, for them to slip right back in to the happy, friendly pattern they’d developed over the winter break. And that couldn’t be allowed to happen: that lead to tense conversations and hasty kisses and trouble, and the last thing Belle needed was trouble.  
  
“How did you know?” she asked, finally, and Gold seemed to snap out of his own reverie to blink at her before his eyes snapped back to the road.  
  
“Know what, dearie?”  
  
“That I needed saving?” she asked, “I mean, tonight. How did you know where I’d be?”  
  
“Would you believe I was simply driving by and saw you in distress?” he asked, but his lip was curled at the corner: he knew the answer already.  
  
She shook her head, “Not in a million years. If you’d driven by you would have only seen us talking. He was only on me for a minute at most.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
“So, then,” she pressed, “Who told you?”  
  
He sighed, as if deciding, and then seemed to make up his mind and said, “Your roommate called.”  
  
“Abbie?” Belle frowned, “Why would she call you?”  
  
“Well, she called Bay, since he’s apparently been spending quite a bit of time around your room since the break. And he was… well, he’s otherwise engaged tonight, so he passed the message on to me.”  
  
“Oh.” Belle nodded, and thought on that, on how the message had gone through two concerned parties before it reached Gold. Abbie and Bay were her friends, she thought, and that made her smile: friends who knew everything and sent a protector anyway. Friends who were there to save her from her own mistakes.  
  
 Then something else hit her, “Engaged?” she asked, slyly, “In what sense?”  
  
Gold’s smirk matched her own, “Well, I of course have no idea. But there was an Irish accent in the background when I spoke to him.”  
  
“So they made up,” Belle sighed, smiled, nodded, “Good.”  
  
“He sounded happy.” Gold agreed, “Well, behind the concern that we’d find you in the morning beaten and left in an alleyway.”  
  
Belle winced, and felt her hands shake, “Yeah.”  
  
Gold shook his head, “I’m sorry, Belle, that was too far.”  
  
“No, no,” she gave a shaky, false little laugh, “Don’t be. I mean… I don’t think it would have gotten half that far. But thanks for not risking it.”  
  
“Thank Bay, he’s the one who got my arse moving.”  
  
“But he couldn’t be bothered to show up in the middle of the night to beat my so-called date half to death,” Belle smiled, “So you’re my hero, not him.”  
  
She had the obscene urge to place her hand over his on the steering wheel, before she thought better of it and placed both hands in her lap. She clenched them together to keep the feeling down: she was staying at his place, after all: a mistake could be fatal.  
  
He smiled, an odd little quirk that only lifted one side of his mouth, but it was genuine for all its apparent bafflement, “Indeed.”  
  
An odd tension settled over the car, and Belle took a deep breath, sighing, trying to fill the silence with more noise than just the low rumble of the car engine, “So,” she said, a little awkwardly, “Where do you live?”  
  
“Orchard street,” Gold replied, “Sleepy suburbia, I’m afraid.”  
  
She gave him a dull look at the apology in his voice, “Secure neighbourhood, far from campus, not easy to find. Please tell me what I’m supposed to find objectionable about that?”  
  
He gave a little laugh, “I just meant that most college students would choose to spend their time someplace a little more exciting, that’s all.”  
  
She shrugged, “I’m a good book and hot chocolate girl myself,” she shot him a sly little smile, “Despite what the gossips would have. I haven’t set foot in an honest-to-god nightclub since freshman year.”  
  
Gold shuddered, “Ah yes, I remember those. All loud, repetitive music, close crushes of unhygienic young men, and brightly coloured, toxic drinks, as I recall.”  
  
Belle giggled, nodded, “Yep, they haven’t changed.”  
  
“More’s the pity.”  
  
“Ruby likes them.” Belle said, as they drew up in front of a large, dark, wooden house and Gold stopped the car, “So I got hauled along. It wasn’t as bad as you’d think, but still not really my scene.”  
  
“I’d imagine so.” Gold nodded, and let them inside. She followed him into the dark hallway, and suddenly everything was tense and heavy and nervous. She had been so relaxed, outside. In the car. Before.  
  
Now the door closed behind her, and he flipped on a light, and she was in Professor Cameron Gold’s house, and planning to stay the night.  
  
“I’ll make up the sofa,” Gold said, briskly, as he hung up his coat and indicated for her to do the same, “I assume you’re not interested in staying in Bay’s room?”  
  
Belle giggled, “I think he’d prefer his stuff untouched, thanks, the sofa is fine.”  
  
The sofa was farther from his room and closer to the door. Easier to pretend she was just crashing on a friend’s couch for the night, easier to pretend she wasn’t staying with Gold, alone, overnight.  
  
Because that thought gave birth to others, and if she followed down that rabbit hole she’d start to live up to her reputation.  
  
Much as she felt she had, stupidly, fallen fast and hard for him, and much as she would like to just throw caution to the wind, she had to be smarter than that. She had to at least give being sensible a try.  
  
He threw a quilt and a few extra blankets over the sofa, and placed a pillow at one end. It made a decent looking bed, and she smiled as she sat down, spreading out and sighing, “Okay, this is softer than the mattress on my real bed.”  
  
“Yes, well, University bedding isn’t known to be of the highest quality.”  
  
“Eh,” she shrugged, “You get what you pay for. And my rent is dirt cheap, so it wouldn’t surprise me if there was straw in my bed.”  
  
Gold chuckled, “I’ll put the kettle on,” he decided, “Do you want any tea, coffee?”  
  
“Tea’d be great, thanks.” Belle nodded, and then came to a sudden realisation, something she should have thought of half an hour ago, “I don’t have anything with me.”  
  
“Pardon?” he called from the kitchen, and she followed his voice, leaning against the doorframe as he puttered about the room.   
  
“I said I didn’t bring anything with me.” She said, crossing her arms across her chest and hoping she looked more grown up than she felt, “Toothbrush, pyjamas, anything.”  
  
“Well,” he said, turning back to face her, the tea brewing beside her. He mimicked her posture, leaning against the counter, his arms folded, “To be fair, dearie, you didn’t expect to be out of your room for the night. I’m sure there’re things you can borrow for a night or two, it’s no trouble.”  
  
“Thank you.” Belle nodded, and then sighed, her shoulders sagging, “Really, thank you. For everything.”  
  
“It’s no matter.” Gold said, softly, “Really, Belle, your safety’s more important than anything.”  
  
She nodded, but she could feel tears forming, and couldn’t stop it from happening. She ducked her head, hoped in vain that he wouldn’t notice, but she gave a little sob, a little sniff, and knew it was hopeless. She looked up at him, and he looked so sad, so sympathetic, for a moment that she wanted to cling to him and to never, ever let go.  
  
“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, and she couldn’t even be startled at the endearment, too stuck on the softness in his eyes.  
  
She gave a cracked little laugh, “Everything. God I just… I fucked everything up, didn’t I? This is all my fault.”  
  
“No,” he denied, immediately, “You made some inadvisable decisions, I won’t deny it, but this isn’t your fault. In the end, you’ve done nothing to hurt anyone.”  
  
“Then why am I getting hurt?” she asked, and before another sob could tremble its way through her body he had caught her up in his arms, and her head was buried in his shoulder, his arms tight around her waist.  
  
She tried not to cry too hard on him, but he didn’t seem to mind. They stood in the kitchen for what seemed like hours, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, rocking her like a distressed child, murmuring reassurances into her hair. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to: for the first time in months, maybe longer, she felt calm, safe, warm.   
  
Finally, he broke away from her, and she looked up at him with what felt like the first smile she’d really meant in far too long. For a moment, just a moment, she thought he would kiss her. His eyes lingered a moment too long on hers, on her lips, too soft and warm and deep.  
  
She was so close to leaning in that short distance, pressing her mouth to his, just throwing it all away and giving in. Their breath mingled between them, hot and a little heavy, everything warm and tense once again, and they were so close, so close.  
  
But then he turned to fix the tea, and she brushed her hair back with one hand and stepped back, feeling overheated and flushed, “Do you want to watch some TV?” she asked, before she could stop herself, “Sorry, I’m still kind of… wired. You know?”  
  
“You’re in a bit of shock, I’d reckon,” Gold nodded, “If you wish to watch a little television before bed I’d happily join you.”  
  
He sounded a little stiff, formal, and she wondered if he was as tense as she was. Neither of them could have forgotten what happened in Boston before she left, and much as she felt he was probably striving for something resembling a parental tone, she could see the rigid line of his shoulders under his shirt. This was as hard for him as for her.  
  
“Thanks.” She smiled, shyly, and he smiled back as he handed her her tea. She lead them back into the living room, and curled her legs under her when she sat down, to resist the urge to simply snuggle in his lap.  
  
It would have been so easy, she thought, would have felt so natural, to just rest her head on his shoulder when he settled beside her. But they put as much space as possible between them, as he turned the set on and found an episode of some fantasy drama on his DVR.  
  
Belle was paying little attention, but Gold seemed fairly absorbed in the story, so she took the opportunity to watch him without being watched herself. He was softer, here, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him in college, despite the tension that flared when she alerted him to her presence. This was his domain, and she felt that meant something, something beyond simple control of his surroundings. She didn’t meant to stare, but she didn’t watch whatever show he was interested in, so her attention kept wandering.  
  
Finally, the two main characters started kissing on screen, and Gold was smiling, and Belle couldn’t take it anymore, “Okay, so what’s happening here?”  
  
“What?” he paused it and looked at her.  
  
“Here,” she gestured to the screen, to the improbably attractive people staring at one another, “Why are you so happy about it?”  
  
“Oh, it’s just they’ve dragged this story out for far too long. Resolutions are good once in a while.”  
  
“Right,” Belle nodded, frowning still, “So how come it took them so long to get to this point?”  
  
“She’s an idiot, he’s a married idiot, they’re both under a spell, and he was in a coma for a few episodes as well.”  
  
Belle laughed, “You look like Abbie watching Grey’s Anatomy. With less crying.”  
  
“You sound like you’re feeling better.” He noted, and she shrugged, a little uncomfortable with his sudden scrutiny.  
  
“Yeah, well, you’re a lot less intimidating when you’re getting emotional over a tv show.”  
  
“I have a hard time believing, dear, that you have ever been intimidated by me.”  
  
She laughed, an honest laugh, and shook her head, “I spent most of the first month of classes this year doing all the extra reading for your class so you couldn’t make a fool of me for being ignorant. You intimidate everyone.”  
  
“Well I never would have guessed,” he turned the tv set off and sat back on the sofa, giving her an almost lazy smile, “Considering how you never shut up most classes.”  
  
“Usually when someone intimidates me it makes me want to do anything I can to beat them.” She explained, a little ruefully, “It’s better to pretend to be brave than show that you’re scared, right?”  
  
“Who knows, maybe if you’d been all little and timid you would have been left alone?” he asked, and she thought he was teasing, his eyes were gleaming so, so she laughed.  
  
“Seriously? I’ve seen how you treat the quiet ones. I doubt it would have done any good.”  
  
He smirked and nodded, “Your essays are good enough I’d probably just keep prodding until I got a response, if you decided to clam up. Better that than risk Ashley Boyd getting a word in edgeways.”  
  
Belle laughed and swatted his arm, playfully, “Badmouthing other students, professor?” she teased, “Isn’t that frowned on or something?”  
  
He raised an eyebrow “Because there’s so much propriety happening right now, dearie.” She had to concede that point, “And you know I’m right, anyway: I believe I’ve had to send you out for engaging with Miss Boyd before.”  
  
Belle flushed, “You remember that?”  
  
“How could I forget?” he chuckled, and she grimaced.  
  
“If the words ‘girl fight’ are next out of your mouth,” she warned, “Then they will also be the last.”  
  
“I’m quaking in my boots, dearie.” He smirked and she had shifted closer, at some point, and he’d leaned in to say the words, low and teasingly threatening, and there it was again, the hot, dark tension settled in her stomach and in the air around them.  
  
“So you should be.” She whispered, and why did she whisper? Why were her eyes fixed on his mouth? The temptation to lean in and kiss him was once again unbearable, and out of desperation she gave a big, theatrical yawn and pulled away from him fast.  
  
He have a shaky laugh, “You’ve had a long day,” he said, “Perhaps we should see to finding you some pyjamas and getting some sleep, hm?”  
  
She nodded, and stood as quickly as he did, following him from the room and keeping a distance between them. This was seeming like a worse and worse idea with every passing moment, but she couldn’t be sure that, even if her mother showed up at the door and said she could leave and go home for the night, she wouldn’t stay here anyway. She had missed him far, far too much. Being here was like being able to relax and breathe for the first time since Boston.  
  
It was powerful, and a bit intoxicating, and worse than that: it was dangerous.  
  
She stood in the doorway, feet firmly on the landing as he sifted through drawers in his bedroom. It was a dark room, she thought, even with the overhead light on: the bedcovers were burgundy, as was the carpet, the furniture all dark, hard wood. She almost resented the sincerity of his hospitality: the last thing she needed, in the interests of her restraint and her sanity, was to know what Gold’s bedroom looked like.  
  
Finally, he pulled out a pale blue t-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants, only a little too big for her, by the looks of them, “Here, these shouldn’t be too bad to sleep in.” He said, perhaps a little gruffly, as he handed them over.  
  
“Thanks.” She smiled, gratefully, but he was already brushing past her, and into the bathroom, where he quickly found a spare toothbrush in the cupboard.   
  
“You can go ahead and use the toothpaste and soap and things,” he explained, as he handed the toothbrush over as well, “Bay does when he stays over as well, so it’s no trouble.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, again, “Really, I know I’m a total nuisance being here and-“  
  
“Stop that before I have to use the soap to wash your mouth out.” He snapped, pointing at her with one long index finger, “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re welcome here?”  
  
“I think sticking a lump of soup in my mouth’d disprove that theory.” Belle smirked, but she took his point, “Fine. But for the record, if you ever end up murdering someone or something, you can totally come hide out at my place. I bet I could even convince dad to help hide a body if needs be, cause I think he’d be better at hauling a corpse than I would.”  
  
She was babbling, nervous as hell and trying desperately not to say something incriminating or awkward, and he looked at her oddly, bemused but smiling. “Well, thank you, dear. I’ll bear that in mind.”  
  
She cringed inwardly, but she knew it wasn’t the worst thing she could have said. Better to sound like a total moron than let slip how gorgeous he looked now, his jacket and tie long since discarded, in just his dark shirtsleeves and slacks. It was his smiling that did it, though, crinkling the corners of his soft brown eyes, making her feel warm through and through.  
  
“Right.” She nodded, “Good. Okay, I’m going to go get changed downstairs, then.”  
  
“Good,” he nodded, “Yes. Goodnight, Belle.”  
  
“Goodnight… Rum.” She said, and she couldn’t help smiling shyly at daring to use his first name to his face. She turned and walked away before she could over-think the look on his face when she said that. If she let herself remember that it was he who had kissed her first, that ill-fated day in Boston, think that maybe he was having to fight as hard as she was to keep her hands to herself, then everything could get so much worse in so many ways.  
  
She dressed quickly once she closed the heavy blue curtains in the living room, straightened the covers nervously a few times on the sofa before she had the nerve to go back upstairs to use the bathroom.  
  
She was wearing his clothes. They even smelled like him, not so much like his cologne but something else, something earthier and spicier, that was all the sweeter for it being him. They must have shrunk in the laundry at some point, because they almost fit her, so she thought he mustn’t mind surrendering them to her for a night.  
  
She brushed her teeth quickly before she took the comb she’d taken from her handbag and went to work on her hair. It was a tangled mess: she had allowed Abbie to curl and hairspray it before she set out, and a combination of the wet, cold Maine winter wind and August’s pawing at it and the tears that had dripped into the ends had set the knots in fast. She had hoped to be in and out of the bathroom fast, to avoid bumping into Gold by accident: the shadow that passed in the doorway told her she’d failed.  
  
“Having some trouble, dearie?” he asked, and she could see him trying not to acknowledge how potentially awkward this whole situation was  
  
“I’m fine, thanks,” she brushed him off and tugged extra hard for emphasis, wincing when the hair pulled at the root. “I don’t know how it became such a mess, is all.”  
  
 “The wind will do that, I’ve been told,” he said, mildly, “with the saltwater from the sea, it makes the water stick to the fibres.”  
  
 She nodded, and watched as he grabbed his washcloth and went to work busily cleaning his face and neck.  
  
She tried not to stare. She really, really did. But he looked so loose and relaxed and perfect in his pyjamas, and she could see his toned forearms and the muscles of his back through his pale blue t-shirt, and focussing on the difficult knots in her hair proved harder and harder. She just wanted to drop the comb and run her hands over his back, down his arms, wrap her fingers around his. She wanted to kiss the side of his neck, usually hidden by his collars, and play with the hair that brushed his shoulders.  
  
Her mouth went dry, but he could see her in the mirror, so she did all she could to look as if she was just thinking really hard about combing out her hair. The pain in her scalp did, thankfully, focus her attention on her work and not on the man in front of her, but the knots were getting the best of her.  
  
Not for the first time, she thought about just cutting most of her hair off. The dark mass was sometimes more trouble than it was worth. He’d finished brushing his teeth by the time she’d smoothed only the sides of her hair, and she knew the back had to be a horrible mess as well.   
  
“Is it really that bad?” he asked, sighing a little, and she wondered if she’d finally exhausted the odd amount of patience he seemed to have for her.  
  
“I got it.” She muttered. Then the comb got stuck to the side of her head, and she gave up.   
  
“No, you haven’t.” He said, and then plucked the comb from her hair and motioned for her to turn around, “Sit on the side of the tub, feet inside, I’ll sort out the back.” He waved off her protests, “It’ll only take a second.”  
  
She felt her heart pound, but nodded, clambering to sit where he’d indicated. She felt the comb touch the back of her head as his hand came to rest beside it, holding her in place, and she shivered. “Are you sure you and Bay aren’t blood related?” she asked, shakily, trying to break the tension.  
  
He gave a low chuckle, “I used to joke about him becoming a stylist or something as an adult, and he’d point out that I always bought his clothes as a child, not his mother.”  
  
She laughed, and tried to ignore the warmth of his palm against her scalp. He pulled the comb through far more smoothly than she could have, and she could feel him untangling the harder knots with his clever fingers. Her heart was racing, and she hoped he couldn’t tell. “Nature versus nurture, then?”  
  
“Exactly,” Gold agreed, and then sighed, “Always lovely to know you helped your son attract a boyfriend.”  
  
Belle giggled, “Graham seems nice. A little… dense. But nice.”  
  
“Bay doesn’t tend to judge on intelligence, or lack thereof. He’s always preferred people who are nice to people who’re smart. And that, dear, I can assure you I didn’t teach him.”  
  
Belle nodded, and he held her head still a little firmer. She felt the comb slide smoothly through three times, and knew the knots were gone. And yet his hand stayed against her scalp, and the comb kept moving, slow and methodical, brushing out her hair.  
  
She swallowed hard, and for the first time she could think of nothing to say to break the silence, no way to bring them back to earth. His hand had moved a little, and his thumb absently stroked at the back of her head as he pulled more of her hair over to her back from her shoulders, to comb that as well.  
  
His fingers brushed her shoulder, her neck, the side of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, lost in the smallest of sensations, the little almost-innocent touches that sent sparks skittering across her skin.  
  
“There.” He said, after he had combed all he possibly could, “All done.” His voice was low, a little ragged, his breathing heavy and shaking.   
  
And yet, neither of them moved. His hand shifted from the back of her head, and stroked down the side of her now-smooth hair, down the side of her neck. His fingers brushed across her jaw, flattening over her throat, and she could feel that he’d leaned in closer from where he was perched on the stool behind her, feel the heat of his chest against her back. The hand holding the comb came to match the other on her shoulders, and she could feel his breathing, rapid and ragged.  
  
She knew the moment his control broke, and with just the slightest brushes of lips against her hair, she was lost. “I’m sorry.” She whispered.  
  
“For what?” he asked, face still held so very close to her hair, breath brushing the top of her ear.  
  
“For being stubborn and wrong,” she said, “For-“ she swallowed, hard, “For pushing you away when you were only trying to help. For making a mess I can’t clean up on my own.”  
  
One of his hands drifted down her arm, under, to hold her ribs, just above her waist, and it was almost like being wrapped in his arms, only more tentative, more leading, altogether less innocent. The other rested on the side of her throat, the soft pads of his fingers on her sensitive skin both possessive and comforting, all at once. “I’m sorry for getting involved like this.” He said, but his kiss this time, to her temple, was firmer, and followed by another, and another, “I’m sorry for making another problem.”  
  
“You were always a problem for me.” She admitted, and she could feel his sharp inhalation, as he pressed more kisses to the side of her face, to her jaw and her neck, his fingers fanning over her ribs. “From the first day. You could have never looked at me and still made everything worse.”  
  
“Then tell me to stop.” He begged, “Please,” he kissed her neck feverishly, gathering her hair with his hand to keep it back as he nibbled on the side of her jaw, “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop, Belle.”  
  
“I can’t.” She breathed, whimpering to match the moaning growl he made against her skin at her confession, as he scraped his teeth over her neck, “All I’ve wanted, this whole time, all I’ve ever wanted was you.”  
  
The hand on her throat twitched just a little, and she turned her head at his urging. He captured her lips with his, and her body twisted almost of its own accord so her arms could wrap around his shoulders, and she could kiss him back, deeply, passionately, their tongues warring between them. His hands came to span her back, and they stumbled to stand, so she could move her legs from the tub to the floor and he could hold her flush against him.  
  
Her back hit the sink, and he held her there, his mouth slipping from hers to kiss back along her jaw, down her neck, anywhere his lips could find. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against the spots that made her shiver and whimper. His hand tugged at the neck of her borrowed t-shirt, and she giggled at his frustration, “It’s your shirt,” she reminded him, “Don’t rip it.”  
  
He looked right at her, straightening, and the darkness in his eyes sent a bolt of heat right through her, “I know, love,” he almost growled, and she thought she understood.  
  
“They smell like you.” She whispered. Kissing his lips softly, moving to mimic his actions of before, kissing everywhere that had made her feel so good, as he groaned and held her against him, seemingly unable to do anything else. “All over.”  
  
“I knew,” he breathed, “Knew it was a mistake to give you those.”  
  
“Would you prefer me without them?” she teased, wondering where her boldness was coming from. Truth be told, she felt a sense of wild abandonment in this: she had ruined everything else, burned every bridge, and everyone already assumed she’d fucked a teacher or something equally heinous. What was one thing she honestly wanted? What was one more sin for the list?  
  
He swallowed, hard, and she pulled back to smirk at him, to watch his eyes darken still further, as his hands slipped to her hips and gripped her hard against him. She gasped as she felt how hard he was already, pressed against her belly. “I’ll take the fifth,” he breathed, “But what do you think?”  
  
“I think this is the worst idea I’ve ever had.” She admitted, and kissed him again, hard and fierce and deep, “But I know I can’t stop.”  
  
She could feel him pulling away, pulling them toward the door, but she knew if he pulled her to his bedroom, if they did this properly, then she’d have to stop them. It would all be real, and she’d really be making out with Professor Gold, and she’d really have truly and ruined everything she cared about, and then she’d have to stop.  
  
So she kissed him again, desperately, and hopped up on the counter behind her, pulling him by his shoulders so he stood between her legs. He groaned when they were flush against each other, and kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands sweeping over every inch of her. She gasped and arched when his fingers scraped her nipple through the tshirt, and before she could think he had followed his fingers with his mouth, sucking her breast through the cotton, rasping his tongue against her nipple and dragging wet fabric with it. She clung on harder, fingers digging into his shoulders, as his fingers continued lower, under the waistband of her sweatpants, brushing against her underwear.  
  
“Say the word, dearie,” he breathed against her soaked breast, and she choked a moan at the cold air on the wet cotton, “Say you want this.”  
  
“All of it.” She nodded, “Please!” she dragged him back up to her for a messy, desperate kiss as his fingers slipped into her hot, wet folds and she cried out against his lips, shifting her hips to get more pressure where she needed it.  
  
“Christ, Belle,” he panted, stroking his fingers deeper, harder, making her throw her head back and squeeze her eyes shut, “You’re so wet, so wet for me.”  
  
“Always,” she confessed, shunting closer, only his hand on her hip holding her steady, “Always want you, always.”  
  
“It’s a problem.” He admitted, grinding against the side of her leg, and she wondered how he was even forming words, when they had waited so long, when she was so desperate for him. “I always want you, too, always, always.”  
  
“Please, “ she whimpered, “Now, please.”  
  
He nodded, and she wriggled her sweatpants down to her knees and off, as he pulled his down far enough to free himself. He took himself in hand, stroking a few times as she watched, her mouth dry. It was dirty, and hot, and wrong on every level, but if it had been any sweeter, any softer, then it couldn’t have happened at all.  
  
He lined them up, her hands on his shoulders and his on her hips, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he pushed inside, slowly, giving her time to adjust to him. She gasped at the new sensation, her body stretching to accommodate him as she canted her hips, trying to draw him in deeper. She didn’t want an inch of space between them: if they’d have to face the consequences tomorrow, then right now she wanted to take as much as he was willing to give, and not apologise for it.  
  
She moaned when he was sheathed fully in her, hitting some spot deep inside that was hot and dark and wonderful. He pulled out a little way, and then shunted back inside, making her gasp and keen.  
  
He set up a slow, hard rhythm, and she’d wanted him for so long, been denied for so long, that she was soon trembling and moaning with every thrust inside, every brush of his fingers against her, touching the place between her legs that made her eyes close and everything go bright and blurred with pleasure.  
  
He was grunting her name, curse words, a litany of praise and filthy nonsense, and she was clinging to him, rocked with every thrust. He increased the pressure of his fingers, and she hitched her legs higher, and he was suddenly hitting a perfect place, and the pleasure was rocketing through her, making her see stars.  
  
She came with a startled cry, kissing him to smother it, her mouth slack and eyes closed and her whole body shuddering against his, buffeted by wave after wave of pleasure.  
  
Somewhere in the midst of it she felt him stiffen, too, and he groaned, biting down on the side of her neck as he rode out his orgasm.  
  
Finally, they were both still, breathing hard and held together as he slipped out of her. His forehead rested against hers, and she wondered what to do now, where they went from here.  
  
She needed him, wanted him, felt more for him than lust and curiosity. For a moment she just wanted to go back to his bedroom, to be held all night, to awaken in his arms. She wanted everything to be okay.  
  
But then she looked at him, as he stood, straightened, and he was her professor again for just a moment.  
  
She just had sex with a teacher in his bathroom, a man twice her age or more. She just had a quick, dirty fuck against a sink with one of her professors, and suddenly every label she’d ever had thrown at her felt like truth. She wanted to think it was okay, wanted to tell herself it wasn’t like that. But she could barely look at him, she was suddenly so ashamed of herself.  
  
“I’m sorry.” She said, pulling up her sweatpants and setting down on her feet. She broke free when he tried to take hold of her arm, “God, I’m so sorry!”  
  
She almost ran from the room, halfway to tearing, wrenching sobs, and he stared after her. He didn’t try to stop her, but neither did she think he understood.   
  
She curled up under the duvet on the sofa in the living room, and heard his footsteps into his bedroom.  
  
She only hoped she’d still be in the home of a friend in the morning. She only hoped she could explain and he’d understand. Because, in that moment, as she drifted into a dead, exhausted sleep, she sure as hell didn’t.


	11. Chapter 11

_I… yeah, at this point, I should probably explain myself a bit. I should probably tell you that I woke up in my own bed, and it was all a - wonderful and entirely inappropriate - dream. Maybe it should all be in speech marks, because I’m sure if you cobbled together some of the crazy stories people were telling about me, you could get a version fairly close to the truth._  
  
Unfortunately there’s no explanation. There’s literally no confession I can make at this point, no new bit of information, that can make what I did okay.  
  
I hope those of you who’ve read this far will keep going, even if only because of schadenfreude or because this story is like a car crash in slow motion: you know it’ll just get worse, but you can’t look away. Up until this point, I’d argue with anyone who would have said I really deserved what I got. I made mistakes, yes, but they were only mistakes in retrospect. I was, in a lot of ways, a victim of circumstance.  
  
After what happened in Gold’s bathroom, though, I’d not judge anyone who decided that it was all my own fault, and that everyone was right about me all along.

_But I bet I can convince you to keep reading, and not just throw my sad little story down and walk away. Because I guarantee now: it gets worse._

_Oh, so, so much worse._

_And despite all the trouble it caused, how dire things got, all the stupid little accidents of fate that lined up to screw me over, let me just say this:_

_I don’t regret a damn thing._

_—_

It was four am when Belle woke up, still dark outside and quieter than it had ever been in her room on campus. For a long moment, she wasn’t awake enough to be fully aware of her surroundings, and thought maybe she’d fallen asleep on the couch in her and Abbie’s room, or in the common room in their dorms.

 

But as she woke up further, she saw the high ceiling, felt the soft quality of the couch beneath her and the sheets she was wrapped in, and the unfamiliarity of the clothes she wore.

 

She was in Professor Gold’s house, wearing his old clothes, and she groaned as the reality of the last six hours crashed down on her.

 

Dinner, August’s advances, beating him senseless when Gold showed up to save her. The drive back, and their attempts to be friendly in his home coming up a little awkward and tense.

 

And then, his finally kissing her as he tenderly brushed out her hair, and how everything suddenly got hot and fast and messy, and neither one of them had been able to stop.

 

She didn’t want to sit here, her arms wrapped around her knees, and cry. She didn’t want to be that girl, the girl who made a massive mistake with a guy she should have known better about, and sat like a pathetic mess in the aftermath.

 

Because Gold was a good man, a kind man, and really, they’d done nothing wrong. He wasn’t married, she wasn’t seeing anyone, they were both adults, and it wasn’t as if either of them had been unwilling.

 

But she couldn’t get around the twisting, churning feeling in her gut. So she got up, and went to the kitchen to see if she could get a glass of water to calm her stomach, or just for something to do with her hands. Otherwise she was going to do something stupid, like text Abbie and tell her what happened, or call home and beg her dad to come and whisk her away, and that would end badly.

 

She ended up sipping water out of the newly cleaned mug he’d given her tea in, and staring out of his kitchen window. He had a garden, and she felt it was probably a lot bigger than it looked behind the patio and bushes that blocked her view. She had the impression of rolling fields, forests, mountains, all under his dominion.

 

Which was a stupid notion, because he was a college english professor, and she was clearly sleep-deprived and confused and out of her right mind. But then, she wondered if she’d been in her right mind at all since the start of the school year: no decision she’d made seemed like a good idea, in retrospect.

 

“You couldn’t sleep either, hm?” she spun away from the window, startled out of her daze by his soft voice behind her. He smiled apologetically, leaning in the doorway, “I’m sorry, I certainly didn’t mean to startle you, Belle. I just wanted to get a snack.”

 

“It’s your kitchen.” She shrugged, as if she could pretend, absurdly, that there was nothing to talk about. They’d had sex not four hours ago, and she’d gone running off downstairs without a word. “Go ahead.”

 

She tried to move past him, go back to the living room and hope he wouldn’t follow. No good at all could come of conversation. At best, they’d part as awkward acquaintances, their friendship in tatters. At worst, they’d end up staging a repeat performance, as if her fate weren’t sealed enough already.

 

But he stood in her way, caught her by the arms, “Belle,” he said, gently, “What’s the matter, dearie?”

 

“What’s the matter?” she gave a laugh that sounded more like a sob, “Can you honestly think of anything not bad about this situation? Anything at all?”

 

“You regret… this?” he gestured in a little circle, indicating, she supposed, the two of them as well as the mess they’d gotten themselves into. He looked a little sad, a little rejected, almost, and she felt suddenly even more guilty: she had never meant to hurt him as well.

 

She stared at him, “You don’t?”

 

“It’s… imperfect,” he allowed, “But there must be something that can be salvaged. If… if we’re willing to work at it.”

 

She scoffed, and felt like a monster for doing so. But the roles suddenly seemed reversed, and horribly so, casting her as the weathered, beaten, callous voice of experience, and him as the hopeful, loving heart being broken in the process. “And why would we do that?” she broke away from him, falling back to lean against the counter tops, giving them both some space, “Why would we work at… what even is this?”

 

“If you thought that we could be this close together and have nothing happen, Belle,” he said, a little tersely, “Then that makes the both of us idiots.”

 

“You kissed me in Boston to make a point.” She said, dismissively, as if she believed it. He just stared at her, held her gaze, his eyes dark and full of intent, “Didn’t you?” her voice cracked a little on the last word, begging him to break her, begging him to end it. To stop making her want things she really shouldn’t have.

 

He didn’t answer her, he just took two steps forward, put his hands on the sides of her head to hold her still, and leaned down to kiss her deeply, fiercely. She made a surprised little moan in the back of her throat, but her treacherous hands had already come up to grasp his shoulders, to hold herself as close against him as she could as he kissed every thought from her head.

 

He pulled away, and looked down at her face, stroking back her hair with his fingers and watching her, “What point was I making there, then?” he asked, his voice low and a little rough.

 

“That I should shut up.” she said, smiling, because she couldn’t worry about anything with everything hot and dark and silent, with him looking at her like that.

 

“Actually,” he said, leaning in again to press a soft kiss to her lips, and start down across her cheek, leaving little kisses to her jaw before starting on her neck, “We probably should talk about this.”

 

“Really?” she gasped, as he found a sensitive spot and scraped his teeth over it, making her legs tremble.

 

“Yes,” he said, fervently, “See what’s  _salvageable_.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed, “We should,” she hauled his mouth back to hers, and kissed him as passionately as he had a moment before.

 

Then he had scooped her up into his arms, holding her as securely as he had when she fell from the bookshelves in Boston and he’d caught her, and was trying to both kiss her and carry her through to the sofa where she’d made her bed.

 

It was different, this time, less hard and less urgent. They took the time to undress each other, to touch and kiss and make some progress toward lovemaking rather than dirty, desperate fuck in the middle of the night. He rolled them, when they were both naked and trembling, when her eyes were wide and bright and wild, and he was struggling to hold back, so she was straddling his hips, able to set the pace.

 

She kissed him as she sank her hips down, taking him deep inside and rocking against him, setting a rhythm that was slower, a more gradual build that made her toes curl and her heart pound. She kissed him, over and over again, her lips slipping and brushing against his as she started to lose control, as he groaned and bucked up against her, and everything was heat and motion and bright, blinding light.

 

When she came it was hot and slow, like burning velvet, and she buried her moans in the side of his throat. She felt him follow just moments after, and with a final little whimper, she collapsed against him. He rolled them over so his back was against the sofa cushions, and wrapped an arm securely around her waist, pulling the blanket up over the both of them.

 

“This is a really bad idea, isn’t it?” she asked, a few minutes later, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen.

 

He sighed into her hair, “To be honest, dearie,” he said, “I’m really not sure. Probably.”

 

She tried to regain the horror of earlier, the misery, to remember why this was such a mistake and why she’d wanted to run. But there was peace, here, peace she hadn’t felt in far too long. In knowing he wasn’t lying to her, not to protect or to hurt her, and that she was wanted and valued here. There was a special kind of sweetness in that, and she felt she could bear the shame of it, the constant worry that she was truly the whore everyone claimed her to be, so long as she could have this as well.

 

But she was too warm and the world too soft, in that moment, for the worry to gain any real traction. So instead she curled a little closer into his side, and let him stroke her hair back softly as they drifted into sleep.

 

—

 

_You know what I said about not regretting anything? Any part of this whole stupid story, all the things I did that I knew five minutes later were mistakes, all the people who turned into assholes because of it?_

_I mean it._

_And that night, that morning, waking up with someone who actually wanted to be there, for no reason but the fact that we liked each other? The morning we made breakfast and talked and smiled, and acted like complete mushy idiots in his house? That’s why._

_The next five weeks as well, when I walked around the campus with a little smile on my face when no one was looking. When I caught his eye in class and just had to smile to make him lose his train of thought. And no matter what came next, no one can tell me it wasn’t worth those few weeks when, really, everything was good._

_I had friends then, I had Abbie and Bay, and even Ruby was down to just ignoring me rather than active hostility. I didn’t see August around at all, a fact for which I was more than grateful._

_And Regina Mills didn’t say a word. She just watched, just like Ashley watched, just like her friends watched. And I made sure they were bored out of their minds._

_They couldn’t nail me for smiling at teachers, nor for getting my reading done oh-so studiously weeks before it was due. I was the picture of a good student: throw in a pleated skirt and some pigtails and you’d have had the whole package._

_Pictures lie._

_Does it still count as studying if your professor is reciting the theories against the side of your neck, in his double bed, dressed only in one of his shirts? Because I’m fairly sure they wouldn’t have seen it that way._

_I was flying half the time. I floated through corridors and beamed at friends and enemies alike. Someone wanted me. Someone smart and kind and handsome, even if other people didn’t see those latter two, and he wanted me._

_Those five weeks were worth everything that came before and everything that came after._

_And then they ended._

_—_

She’d stayed the night.

 

It was not uncommon, anymore, for Belle to sleep maybe two or three nights out of a week at Gold’s. She didn’t know where Abbie thought she was, but Bay knew so she had a feeling her roommate did too. Either that or she thought August had done better on his date than he actually had. In any case, Belle was unquestioned about her comings and goings, and she truly loved the moments when - after a long day of classes - she came into Gold’s living room and could slump on the sofa.

 

She never did so on the days when they had a class together. It would be too jarring, she thought, to come back to his and eat dinner together, to end up with her clothes on the floor and his hands a long way outside the safe zones, if she’d had to call him ‘Professor’ just hours before.

 

He treated her no better or worse than he ever had in lessons. She was quieter, trying not to tempt fate, and he reacted as he would toward any other reticent student: he picked on her until she spoke anyway. It was easier for him too, she thought, if he wasn’t remembering joining her for her morning shower just hours before.

 

But she’d been in History classes all day, and then the library with three essays to do in a few weeks, and she needed some downtime.

 

And downtime, for Belle, had come to mean sprawling on Gold’s couch and waiting for him to get home.

 

She still couldn’t think of him as ‘Rum’. She wondered if she ever would.

 

“You’re here early,” he commented, as he came in the door ten minutes after she had, and she could hear him hanging up coat and toeing off his shoes.

 

“The Library had a fire alarm,” she told him, “So I didn’t hang around.”

 

“Good choice,” he nodded, taking a seat beside her and running a hand back through his hair, and then down over his eyes.

 

“Long day?” she asked, scooting closer to put her head on his shoulder. His arm came automatically around her, hand splayed on her hip, and he nodded.

 

“Bloody students.” He grumbled, “Demanding little buggers. Present company excluded, of course.” He allowed, and she stuck her tongue out at him. He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep and sweet, and she was smiling as they parted. “Although an argument could be made for the demanding part.”

 

“Hey,” she shrugged, as she pulled away a little, “If you can’t keep up, old man…”

 

He glared at her a moment, but his lips were drawing upwards, trying not to smile. He shook his head, and suddenly tackled her, pinning her beneath him on the sofa and burying his lips in her neck. He kissed along her throat, down to the tops of her breasts, displayed by her low-cut blouse, and then back up to suck her earlobe into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth. She clutched at him, breathing hard, and he pulled back with a final little tug of his teeth, surveying his handiwork critically.

 

“I can keep up, dearie, never you worry.”

 

“Good.” She nodded, leaning up to kiss him, sucking on his lower lip as she pulled back, “I’d hate to think I was being too demanding.”

 

“Never.” He shook his head, his voice almost a growl, and captured her mouth in a searing, plundering kiss.

 

They were startled out of their kissing by her growling stomach, and she giggled against his cheek as their lips slipped apart. “I haven’t eaten since a slice of pizza at about eleven this morning,” she explained, “I need food.”

 

“Apparently.” He raised an eyebrow at her, “I know you’re a student, dearie, but could you try not to starve to death?”

 

“You’re the professor,” she reminded him, as he pulled the both of them up to sit again, and she stood up to prevent a repeat of their former activities. She really was starving. “Shouldn’t you be telling me to set aside sleeping and eating for the sake of better grades?”

 

“I’m also your boyfriend,” he waved a finger in her face, “So I get to be a bit more worried about your health.”

 

She stilled all over, stepped back a little, “Ah, boyfriend?”

 

He frowned, as if he’d only just realised what he’d said himself, “A slip of the tongue, dearie.” He assured her, “I wouldn’t want to… I mean, I know you’re under enough pressure as it is.”

 

“Do you… want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, feeling foolish using the word out loud. Gold was a good twenty-five years her senior, hardly a  _boy_. But man-friend sounded weird, and lover was too vague, so it would have to do. It was his word, anyway, she thought childishly.

 

“Who wouldn’t?” he asked, with an awkward little laugh, and she knew he didn’t mean it but it stung.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, eyes narrowed, stepping back a little further.

 

“Oh, Christ,” he shook his head, “Nothing, I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that you’re beautiful, and intelligent as anything, and sweet and… you know, everything. I meant that you’re too good for me.” He looked down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed, “God, this is why I don’t try to be nice very often. It doesn’t bloody work.”

 

She couldn’t keep down a little burst of laughter at his outburst, the pain soothed by his obvious good intent. It wasn’t his fault she felt so on-edge today; it wasn’t his fault she was becoming used to interpreting everything as an insult.

 

She took a step back toward him, put her hands on his shoulders, and smiled properly, “Rum,” she said, softly, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

 

“Yes.” He smiled, and kissed her lightly, “Of course.”

 

“Then can you please feed me?” she asked, putting one hand to her stomach, “Because otherwise you’ll have a dead girlfriend.”

 

He chuckled, and from the little flush in his cheeks she thought he probably liked their new titles more than he let on. “Of course.” He moved away from her, and started for the door.

 

And then was back in front of her, hands under her arms, holding her up. Her head was spinning, woozy and dizzy, and her legs were not holding her up. He’d caught her on her fast descent to his hard wood floor, and set her down on the sofa once more, checking her forehead with a firm hand.

 

“Belle?” he asked, urgently, “Belle, are you alright?”

 

“Yes, yes,” she shook her head, her vision already clearing, “Sorry, as I said, haven’t eaten.”

 

“Are you sure it’s just hunger?” he checked, “You’re not feverish… are you…” he frowned, looking uncomfortable, “I mean… time of the month?” he offered, helplessly, and she shot him an unimpressed look.

 

“Yes, my period causes fainting spells, because this is the eighteenth century and I’m in a corset.” She shook her head, but another thought had occurred to her.

 

Five weeks they’d been together, and she’d come off a week before that. It had been six weeks.

 

And while they’d been incredibly careful since, that first night they’d used nothing when they came together. She hadn’t thought about it much since, having had other things on her mind, but now her heart was racing and she was staring up at him.

 

“And um… I’m late. Like two weeks late.”

 

He swallowed hard, coming to sit down hard beside her. “Belle, we’ve been very careful…”

 

“Not the first time,” she shook her head, hysteria rising even as she fought it down, “Remember, because I was an idiot and didn’t want to stop and think. Or the second time. Heat of the moment… and now I’m two  _fucking_ weeks late…”

 

“Alright,” he nodded, letting out a deep breath, his face hardening, his ‘I have a plan’ face. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to sit here, breathe, and work out how to not explode in the next hour or so. I am going to get some food inside you, and we won’t worry about this now, okay? And then I’ll drive you to the pharmacy, and we’ll get a test, and see for sure.”

 

“Okay,” she nodded, rubbing frantically at her eyes with the palms of her hands, trying to brush away the tears she wished had never come. “Okay, yes. Okay.”

 

“Good.” He nodded, but he looked as shaken as she, even as he headed to the kitchen.

 

She wondered, bitterly, who would be worse off if the stick turned blue. The professor who knocked up a student, or the student everyone assumed was a whore anyway, who ended up pregnant with a professor’s baby.

 

Dinner was, predictably, strained and silent. The trip to the pharmacy was a giant, terrifying elephant in the room, and they both searched in vain for a way to distract from it. They ended up eating their spaghetti in silence, before she cleared their plates, and they prepared to leave.

 

Belle scuttled, her hood up and glad it was snowing and so excusable, from the car to the store, and found three different pregnancy tests as fast as she could. The hood obscured her peripheral vision, but she didn’t care. She had tunnel vision, grabbing the tests as fast as she could and practically sprinting to the counter to pay for them, and then out again.

 

She almost knocked over a girl on the street, who called out at her as she walked as fast as she could across the street to where Gold was waiting. She dropped the bag, the tests skittering out onto the icy pavement, and she scrambled to pick them up, cursing under her breath.

 

The girl had looked familiar, but her whole focus was on the little cluster of boxes in her handbag, and the possible problem growing in her belly. Her mind had been whirling for the past hour and a half, trying to work out what the hell she would do if they got a positive. It was one thing to hear about what other people did, to support someone’s choice one way or the other… it was another to know that, in a few minutes, she could become an expectant mother.

 

She was only twenty, she thought, as she threw herself into Gold’s car and tried to hold it together. Twenty, and in the worst social and emotional state of her life, in love and sleeping with her professor, and already hiding a hundred horrible secrets from her family.

 

It was hard to see how the situation could get any more difficult.

 

Until they were driving away, and she saw the girl she’d knocked on her way out of the store. Ashley Boyd stared back at her, and she was smiling.

 

At that moment, Belle truly wondered if the ground could swallow her whole.


	12. Chapter 12

_You know how in those really frustrating TV relationships, the hero and heroine meet and pine after each other, and then they finally hook up, and then everything’s happy for a while, and then they break up, and then they’re together again, but they just keep breaking up?_  
  
 _I always used to wonder if it was something people just got hooked on, you know? The drama of it all. The will-they-won’t-they of it._  
  
 _But I’d been together and apart and together and apart with Gold at least twice by the time Ashley Boyd saw what she saw, and I have to tell you, it was in no way fun, no way addicting or interesting. If I could have just decided we were together, walked in public with him, gone on dates, been couple-y, then everything might have been okay._  
  
 _But I was spotted running into a Professor’s car with a load of pregnancy tests, by Regina Mills’ favourite flunkie._  
  
 _So I suppose stability wasn’t really in the cards for me for a while, was it?_  
  
—  
  
“Maybe she didn’t see anything?” Gold suggested for what felt like the millionth time as they pulled back up at his house, “Maybe everything will be alright.”  
  
“No, no,” Belle shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “She saw, she saw and she knows and fucking hell we’re so screwed, oh my god.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” he put his hand on her back, soothingly, and guided her to sit with her head down to help her to breathe. “Calm down, one problem at a time.”  
  
“So which first?” she asked, between gulping breaths. “The fact I might be pregnant, us being in a relationship, or the fact that those two combined plus my reputation could destroy everything?”  
  
“Lets start with the pregnancy tests, okay?” he was trying to be calming, she knew, but his hands were shaking as badly as hers. “We can work from there.”  
  
They practically shuttle-ran to the front door, and Belle knew they both felt a little safer once inside.   
  
The wait in the bathroom was the longest three minutes of her life.  
  
Gold had insisted upon making tea instead of waiting with her, but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking. She sat in silence, staring at the little stick on the countertop, praying desperately to a God she hadn’t spoken to directly in years. She didn’t want to be pregnant, despite how charming the image of a child with Gold’s dark eyes and her curly hair was in her mind’s eye. Maybe in five, ten years. Not now. Not when she still felt like a child herself; not when everything was such a twisted, burning, broken mess.  
  
She still didn’t know what she’d decide if the stick turned blue. She was still in the state of fervently and desperately hoping that it wouldn’t.  
  
Five minutes passed: the timer beeped, and Belle didn’t move.  
  
“Belle?” Gold asked, nervously, as he returned with two mugs of tea, one of which he pressed into her cold hands. “So? What did it say?”  
  
“I haven’t looked yet,” she said, through grit teeth. She was sure she’d be sick any moment, although she knew that nerves alone would do that at this point, and it was no indication of pregnancy. It was absurd to even worry about that, when the full proof was within literal arms’ reach and she couldn’t make herself cross the distance.  
  
“Do you want me to do it instead?” Gold asked, gently, and Belle nodded. “Very well.”  
  
She could see his hand tremble, too as he lifted the little white stick and held it up. He squinted, staring for a long and agonising moment at the end, the little symbol that would decide everything. Belle’s stomach rolled: she was going to vomit, she was sure of it.  
  
Then, Gold heaved a long sigh, and his shoulders - they were so tense, how had she not noticed that? - relaxed. “Negative,” he pronounced, and Belle felt all of a sudden lightheaded with relief.  
  
“Oh,” she breathed, “thank God.”  
  
She turned to him with a wet but dazzling smile, but he looked down at her differently, with an odd mixture of relief and happiness and…disappointment? “It was such a horrible notion?” he asked, his voice oddly strained.  
  
“Rum…” she reached out, a hand on his forearm, “I’m twenty years old, I’m a student… of course it was a bad idea. Of course it could have ruined what little we’ve managed to… how did you put it? Salvage?” her mind was reeling even as she said it: he was upset that she didn’t want to have his baby? He would have been happy, having a child that was a mixture of them both?  
  
“It would have ruined your life,” he said, softly, and suddenly the test was back on the counter and she was crushed against his body, his arms strong around her shoulders and hers coming to wrap around his abdomen. “Of course, sweetheart, I was being selfish. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine,” she said, voice still a little choked with having been crying for so long, “It’s fine. It’s a timing thing,” she said, quietly, “Nothing to do with the… the genetics involved.”  
  
“I forget sometimes,” he confided, when they’d pulled back a little and face to face, “That you’re not thirty and conquering the world yet. I forget you’re only twenty and have all that ahead of you.”  
  
“I sit in your classes three times a week,” she pointed out, but she had to admit she was a little flattered that he forgot she was so much younger, sometimes. She did worry, much of the time, about acting too immature, too much her age, and driving him away. “Would have thought I’d have reminded you somehow every day that I’m still mostly a kid.”  
  
“You’re not a student or a twenty-year-old or a kid, or any of that,” he promised, sincerely. “You’re Belle. Just and completely Belle. And while that’s wonderful, it’s also dangerous, because something like this happens and I get selfish and forget that you’re not old and ready to settle like me.”  
  
“You’re not old. You’re just you,” she half-repeated back to him. He smiled, warmly, and before she could say more he was kissing her. With his mouth on hers, his hands in her hair and hers on his shoulders, they could almost pretend that the last three hours hadn’t even happened.  
  
They could, and wanted to, and did.  
  
Belle soon discovered that they were alone in this view.   
  
She slept in her dorm that night, Abigail once more tactfully not asking where her roommate had been all afternoon. Belle slept like the dead that night, exhausted from a whirlwind of terror and misery and relief and, even now, gnawing anxiety over what Ashley would do with her new-found information.  
  
She could claim it wasn’t her, but who would believe her?  
  
She could claim it wasn’t Gold, but she doubted Ashley was stupid enough not to get the license plate of his car. And although they’d dodged suspicion so far, little pieces of information, witnesses and rumours, were sure to add up once hard evidence and eye-witness testimony came into it.   
  
She slept because the waking world was roaring past far too fast, far too loud, and she would rather have been asleep.  
  
The next day, she walked to her first class with her head down, hoping to get through the next week without incident - and, sadly, without Gold, as he’d decided for the both of them that they ought to avoid one another for a while in case of suspicion - and discover that the world was the same at the end of it.   
  
She’d just reached Professor Jones’ classroom, however, when she was stopped. Her eyes were on the floor, but she knew those sleek black heels, that stance, and she glanced up to see Regina Mills staring down at her, a predatory and terrible smile on her blood red lips.  
  
“Miss Charmin,” Regina said, with a warmth that concealed a blade, “would you mind coming with me for a moment?”  
  
“I’ll miss my class,” Belle said, “it’s finals soon and I need to get in all the hours I can-“  
  
“Professor Jones has already promised to email you the lecture notes and slides, you won’t miss anything important,” Regina cut in, smoothly, “now if you’ll come with me, there’s a matter I’d like to discuss.”  
  
Belle knew what Regina wanted to talk about, and once again her stomach rolled. She couldn’t do this: pretending a rumour was true when it wasn’t was one thing; lying to cover up a real scandal was another entirely.  
  
“This is about Ashley,” she said, as soon as they entered Regina’s office, and the older woman turned to her in surprise.   
  
“Why, yes,” Regina smiled, and took a seat behind her desk, gesturing to Belle to take a seat herself. Belle shook her head, and Regina shrugged, her smile never dimming. “I assume, then, that you know what I have to say.”  
  
“I can guess,” Belle said, tightly. “What I don’t understand is why I’m not in front of the Ethics Committee right now. Isn’t that how you like to do things, Professor Mills? Nice and public?”  
  
“Oh, now now,” Regina chuckled, and a shiver ran down Belle’s spine, “You make it sound so sinister! On the contrary, dear, it’s best for all involved if this is settled in private.”  
  
“What are you accusing me of, Professor Mills?” Belle sighed, tiredly: in truth, despite how horrid this situation was, she was resigned. This had been coming a while, it was almost a relief to see the worst for what it was, look it in the eye and know that this was as bad as it could get. She’d been caught: now she could start working toward setting things right. She just needed to know what Regina thought she’d caught her doing.  
  
“I’m accusing you of nothing, Miss Charmin,” Regina said, all innocence. “I am a faculty member, concerned for the wellbeing of a student. You know, do you not, that relations between teachers and students are forbidden at Storybrooke University?”  
  
“I am aware,” Belle said.  
  
“Then you’ll understand why Dean Leopold will have no choice but to ask Professor Gold to resign at the end of the day,” Regina said, calmly, and Belle felt ice running in her veins, her stomach plummeting a hundred storeys, her hands coming to grip the edges of Regina’s desk with white knuckles.  
  
“What?” she gasped, “Why?”  
  
“Because he has taken advantage of a young woman who no one would deny is on a clear path of self-destruction. Not to mention the fact that it is well known you have solicited men on this campus before, Belle,” she gave her a maternally disapproving look, and Belle wanted to slap her. “Really, you whored yourself to a professor? The students didn’t have enough money anymore?”  
  
“You know it’s all lies,” Belle gritted out, “you know it!”  
  
“Know what? Everyone on campus knows of your exploits, Belle, and I have a reliable witness. She saw you pregnancy tests in hand, running to Professor Gold’s car yesterday.”  
  
“He gave me a lift,” Belle said, her lips numb with shock, terror. She’d thought it couldn’t get any worse: she’d been wrong. “He just gave me a lift, I told him I was…” she swallowed, hard, “worried. I said I was worried and he wanted to help me.”  
  
“You honestly expect for me to believe that?” Regina gave her a condescending, patronising smile, “I’d think you’d be grateful, dear. At last that predator will be gone from our university for good.”  
  
“He’s not a predator, he’s a good man!”  
  
“But you said before that the rumours surrounding you were lies, Miss Charmin,” Regina purred. “If you’re not the whore everyone says you are, then why did you need pregnancy tests?”  
  
Belle stopped, and stared at her, stunned. She didn’t know what to say, and Regina practically beamed, knowing she had her. “You’ll need to pick a story and stick to it, Belle,” she said, softly. “Are you sleeping with a professor, or whoring yourself to every man in town?”  
  
Belle’s mouth slipped open, shock making everything cold and numb and far away. This was it, she realised, this was where they’d been heading, and of course she wouldn’t pay the price, of course it would be Gold who lost his job, his career, his reputation. All because she was an idiot, and she’d dragged him into this. All because he’d gotten a little crush on a student, and she’d turned it into a fire that would burn him alive.  
  
“What do you want?” Belle asked, and Regina grinned, victorious.  
  
“I want you to break off whatever little thing it is you’re having with Professor Gold,” Regina said. “And you’re to tell him that either he leaves this university at the end of the year, or the details of his indiscretions with a promiscuous student become public. He can leave with his reputation in tact, or be sacked. It’s his choice.”  
  
“I’ll leave,” Belle said, immediately, “Please, Professor Mills, I’ll transfer elsewhere, I’ll leave quietly, just please leave him out of it!”  
  
Regina laughed, coldly and quietly, “Oh, my dear, it would be entirely wrong for a student to have to leave everything she’s worked for, because of a Professor’s poor judgement. He is old enough to be your father, Belle, he should have known better than to screw around with a woman less than half his age, and a student of his at that. I don’t care for the details, the fact is that he can’t be allowed to get away with this. It’s his neck on the block, not yours. I’m letting you break it to him as a mercy, nothing more.”  
  
“Please,” Belle sobbed, but she knew it was no use. Gold would lose everything, one way or the other. Because no one would believe her, if she put her word against Regina’s. Regina was the leader of the Ethics Committee, and a celebrated academic in her own right. Belle was just a student, and one with the worst reputation at that.  
  
The rumours would corroborate anything Regina said. And Belle had started them, spread them, confirmed every last one of them.  
  
She felt sick to her stomach.  
  
She nodded, stiffly, and made her way to the door. She was stopped, hand on the handle, by Regina’s voice again.  
  
“And don’t think about trying to stay with him despite all of this, Belle,” she warned, softly. “Remember how easy it would be for these little secrets to get out, his cooperation or no.”  
  
“I understand,” Belle said, voice choked with tears, and finally left, closing the door behind her.  
  
—  
  
 _I… I don’t have anything for you here. Nope. Except to say that I hope, one day, that Regina Mills meets with the business end of a very sharp blade._  
  
 _I don’t know if it was professional jealousy or personal hatred or even some misguided sense of justice that lead her to do what she did, but there was no justification for it. We weren’t hurting anyone, papers were marked anonymously and moderated anyway, so my grades were no better, and no one even knew. Except for her. And it would have destroyed us both if she told anyone._  
  
 _So you know what comes next. I wish it didn’t, but it did._  
  
 _The end of the story, and the part I wish had never happened at all._  
  
—-  
  
Belle stood for nearly fifteen minutes outside Gold’s office door, before she’d gathered her strength to knock. She hoped, childishly, that he’d not be in, that there’d be a faculty meeting or an extra finals study session that would keep him away. That some divine providence would come and save her from this conversation.  
  
She wanted to cry, and had in the bathrooms for an hour beforehand. Only yesterday they were talking about a future together, and now this.  
  
He’d hate her for this. For putting in this position; for hurting him like this; for pitting him against a colleague. Of course he’d hate her. Even if he understood their having to break up, he’d never want to see her again.  
  
The idea of never seeing him, talking to him, holding his hand or kissing him again was unbearable. But he’d only resent her, if they stayed together and it ruined his career.   
  
So she knocked, and waited, and her heart plummeted when he called, happily, “Come in!”  
  
She swallowed, hard, and pushed down the handle, slipping into the office with a small, weak smile of greeting. “Belle!” he said, surprised, “I didn’t expect to be seeing you so soon.”  
  
“I know,” she said, and why couldn’t her voice get louder? Why, even now, when he needed her to be strong and steady did she have to be so goddamn weak? “I’m sorry, I know we were having a week off-“  
  
“It’s fine!” he said, quickly, and flashed her a smile, “I only thought I’d break first,” he confided, as she took a seat, and she tried to smile back but couldn’t manage it enough to be convincing. “Better stay with the desk in the way, though, eh?”  
  
“Yes,” she nodded, “That’s best.”  
  
“Belle?” he frowned, concerned, suddenly seeming to realise that she didn’t share his happiness in reunion, their usual easy, happy back and forth. “Is something the matter, sweetheart?”  
  
“We,” she swallowed again, trying not to break down, “We need to talk.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“This… us…” she shook her head, “We can’t. Anymore. I mean, we need to stop. Break up. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Belle? Where’s this come from? Has someone said something?”  
  
“Regina,” she said, quietly. There had never been any question of her telling him the whole truth: Regina was destroying both of their lives for a petty victory, Belle wouldn’t cover for her as well. “She knows about us, she has enough proof and with my…” she swallowed again, voice wavering, “My reputation, being what it is… she’ll tell everyone. And she’ll say you paid me, and find someone to say they saw you, and make you the bad guy and me one of those poor girls you see on the news who got groomed and abused by an older guy. She’ll ruin everything.”  
  
Gold’s knuckles were white on his desk, and she stood with him, anticipating his rising to his feet and heading for the door, thunder in his eyes. “Stop!” she cried, grabbing his arm, and he turned to her with a look that was furious and half-feral. “She’ll tell. You can’t stop her, we have to do what she says.”  
  
“And what,” he ground out, his voice terrifyingly soft, lethal, “Does Ms Mills say we have to do?”  
  
Belle looked down, tears running openly down her face, unable to hold it in as she named Regina’s terms. “You’re to leave Storybrooke for good, go elsewhere, and we can’t see each other anymore. That’s the only way she’ll leave us alone.”  
  
“You call this leaving us alone?” he half-roared, and she shushed him desperately, terrified that someone would hear. “No, I can’t let this stand, we don’t have to do a thing that bitch tells us!”  
  
“We do,” Belle said, simply. She had found a strange serenity, resignation, in seeing him so torn apart. If he was being emotional then she didn’t have to: she could be strong, and do as needed. “We have to, I’m so sorry, but you’re not risking your career for me. I’ve already destroyed my reputation here, you’re not allowed to follow me.”  
  
“With all due respect, Belle,” Gold said, his hands still shaking with the effort, she thought, not to smash his office to ruins, “It’s my career and my reputation.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Professor Gold,” she returned. He winced, taking his full title like a physical blow. “But we’ve only been together less than two months. I’m a student, and…” she took a deep, shuddering breath, going in for the blow she’d never wanted to strike, that she knew would make him let her go. “And you’re old enough to be my father. However we… however we think we feel about each other now, it doesn’t matter. It’s not worth that kind of sacrifice.”  
  
“And that,” he swallowed, “That’s how you really feel? That’s how you’d feel even if Regina weren’t doing this?”  
  
“Would my saying that help you to let go of me? Is that what you need to hear? Fine, yes, what we have… it’s lovely but it can’t last, and I won’t let you give up your career for it. I won’t.”  
  
He noted the firm set of her jaw, the hard eyes finally finished crying, the white knuckles clenched at her sides, and she watched him do it with just a glance over her. He knew her, as well or better than anyone else in the world, and he knew when a decision of hers was set in stone. She wasn’t going to budge, and she could see the moment when he realised he’d lost.  
  
“I’ll draw up paperwork to have you moved to another seminar group,” he said, “Miss Charmin.”  
  
“Thank you, Professor Gold,” she said, stiffly, “I’d go tell Professor Mills your decision right away,” she added, softly, “I… this can’t be for nothing.”  
  
He nodded, tightly, and showed her out. He slammed the door behind her, and she winced, every muscle tensing as she forcibly held onto her composure, headed directly for her dorm room. Classes could wait, she thought: her heart was breaking, and she couldn’t stay where she might see him.  
  
She made it all the way to her bed, before she finally collapsed on the covers and started to cry.  
  
—  
  
 _I saw the accommodation people within a few days, and formally asked to move out early and return home for finals. I studied at home, came to campus only to sit my exams, and started working on finding a school to transfer to. Somewhere where I could still see my friends, but where I wouldn’t be known._

 _I couldn’t stay in Storybrooke, not anymore._  
  
 _Abigail understood, thankfully: Ruby would have pitched a fit, but Abbie knew the details, and she just sat with me for a long time as I finished my packing, and had her arm around my shoulder. I’ll miss her, so much, I know I will. I’ll miss her almost as much as I already miss him. At least Abbie can come to visit._  
  
 _I’m formally enrolled to start at Boston College in the fall, and enter as a Junior. No one there will know my name, I’ll have Uncle David in the city to keep an eye on me, and I can start my life over in peace and anonymity._  
  
 _I knew the moment I left Gold’s office that I’d not be able to stay in Storybrooke. Regina must be throwing a party: she got what she wanted, both of us gone and neither of us happy._  
  
 _That’s how the story ends. Gold’s off doing God Knows What, I’m sat in my childhood bedroom wanting to cry whenever the phone rings, and Regina Mills has her glory days._  
  
 _But at least I wrote it all down. At least now I can tell my side of the story. Maybe, one day, someone will actually read it._  
  
—  
  
Belle looks up from her laptop, and finally, finally closes it.  
  
She’d thought she’d get more closure in doing this, finally work out her feelings and get them down on paper and close the book on the whole horrible year. But all she feels, even with the book closed, is hollow, as if her heart had been torn out and left somewhere far, far away.  
  
Her phone beeps, and her heart jumps.  
  
Every day she hopes, even though she knows she shouldn’t, that it’ll be Gold. And every day it isn’t.  
  
It’s Bay. At least, she thinks, in keeping touch with him she can keep up a little with his stepfather. At least she’s not entirely cast adrift.  
  
 _Come to the main quad on campus_ , the text reads, _get here by 2pm, there’s something you need to see._  
  
 _What?_  She texts back, quickly. It takes only a second for his response to come in.  
  
 _Just come quick._  
  
And even though she shouldn’t, even though it’s a bad idea and it can’t lead to anything good, Belle stands up, grabs her handbag, and makes for the door.  
  
Because she’s made more bad decisions than she can count in the past year, and what’s one more to add to the list?


	13. Chapter 13

Belle’s walk from her car to the central quad feels like both the shortest and longest of her life. Bay wouldn’t have asked her here if it weren’t important. He knew how hard it was for her to be back in Storybrooke, after how everything had ended last semester.  
  
It’s the end of August, the leaves just starting to think about turning brown on the trees, the air both warm and crisp, starting the long descent into the Maine winter. Belle managed to avoid the place for the whole summer, writing out her story, going somewhere else, anywhere else, to visit friends or family. She even went to Boston a few times, certainly not to see if Gold would linger in their old places. He didn’t, of course. For all she knows, he’d caught the first plane back to Glasgow, and she’ll never see him again.  
  
She’s managed to avoid Storybrooke since March, when it all went pear-shaped. Bay wouldn’t call her back for nothing.  
  
That’s the only reason she’s here.  
  
He’s waiting for her on the quad, as promised. She’d half forgotten he existed beyond Skype and text, considering how he’s been anywhere but local since the semester ended last year.   
  
“You made it!” he cries, delightedly, and before she knows it she’s running across the quad and launching herself into his arms with a massive smile. He’s lost a little weight, but his hug’s a little stronger, and she wonders if Graham’s the cause of his sudden lurch toward fitness.  
  
“I did!” she agrees, when they part, and in the joy of reunion she can almost forget that not six months ago this was a place that hated her. A place where she was a laughing stock and a scandal, a place where she’d had her heart and her pride utterly broken. “What’s the emergency, then?”  
  
“Follow me,” he replies, his face suddenly grave and mysterious, and her gut clenches hard as she nods shakily and takes his hand.  
  
He leads her off into the main building, and she feels sick as she knows exactly where they’re going, her feet knowing the trip by heart. They’re going to Professor Gold’s office, oh no, no no, they can’t, she can’t, no, she’s going to be sick, Bay wouldn’t do this to her, but he has and-  
  
No, they pass Gold’s office, and Belle heaves a massive sigh of relief. Bay looks down at her critically as they walk, “He’s not here, you know,” he says, and she nods, shakily.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I’d not- that’s between you two. This is more important.”  
  
She frowns, suddenly far more curious than nervous, and follows him more closely, watching as they round the staircase and up another flight, down the corridor, and there, the Dean’s office?  
  
She’s only been in here once, when she topped her year in English Literature her freshman year and received a personal commendation. She has a feeling the circumstances are different now.  
  
There’s a little crowd gathered, Jefferson - she sees, surprised - among them. People she recognises them mostly as seniors and TA’s, and several of them see Bay and nod, and he nods back. Friends of Bay’s, and colleagues, gathered close enough around the door to hear but not close enough to look as if they’re eavesdropping.  
  
They part with a rippled whisper, like the Red Sea, as they approach. But surprisingly, Belle sees no disapproval or suspicion on any of their faces: they part with sympathetic smiles and respectful nods.   
  
She doesn’t get a chance to ask why: Bay has his finger pressed to his lips, and whispers, “Jerry managed to jimmy the door open without them hearing. You have to be silent, and listen.”  
  
She nods, without a clue what he’s on about, and leans by the door where he indicates as he stands a little way back. Graham’s not here, she realises, and then she hears his brogue through the doorway. Graham’s not here, because he’s inside.  
  
“And how long has this continued, Mr Hunter?” the Dean Vincent asks, her voice smooth and impartial.  
  
“Three years,” Graham says, and Belle frowns.  
  
‘What?’ she mouths at Bay, but he just frowns, and indicates she shut up and listen.  
  
“That’s why I kept failing courses,” Graham continues, “I didn’t want to believe it… but she was causing me to fail on purpose.”  
  
“For what reason?” Dean Vincent prompts, but it is Regina’s voice that pipes up next.  
  
“For no reason!” she cries, “Mal-“  
  
“Some respect please, Ms Mills,” Dean Vincent cuts her off, smoothly. “We’re in a professional meeting, after all.”  
  
“I haven’t done anything to hold back Gr- Mr Hunter’s education!” she protests, “Why would I do such a thing?”  
  
“Because you can’t get a man to stick around,” Graham says, quietly, “And I’m stupid enough that no one would notice.”  
  
“Are you implying, Mr Hunter, that Professor Mills held you back for personal reasons?” Dean Vincent asks. “If so, that is a serious allegation.”  
  
“She held me back because we were having an affair,” Graham says, after a long pause, and Belle gasps. She presses her hand to her mouth at Bay’s accusing stare, but no one seems to have noticed inside. No one else around her is surprised, either, and Belle understands at last what this is: they are showing support for a friend in need.  
  
Bay’s eyes are hard, his face firm and set. She’s never seen him look so hard, as if he were carved in stone.  
  
“Liar!” Regina protests again.  
  
“I have texts and emails sent to me to prove it,” Graham continues, cutting her off. “I wasn’t interested, Dean Vincent, after the first time. A drunken mistake at a grad school mixer three years back, and I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. But she told me she’d tell everyone that…” his voice ran out, and Belle could almost hear him swallow hard, taking his deep breath and steeling himself. “She’d tell everyone that I’d assaulted her and have me expelled if I didn’t continue. I had no choice. My word against hers.”  
  
“You have evidence, I suppose?” Dean Vincent asks, and Belle can hear her interest even behind her cool tone. “Witnesses?”  
  
“Both,” Graham says, “Most of the senior class knows, by now.”  
  
“Gossip travels this school like plague!” Regina cries, outraged, “And none of it true! He could have told them anything, to hurt me!”  
  
“Why would he do that, Professor Mills?” Dean Vincent asks, calmly, “What does he stand to gain?”  
  
“He’s failing my class: he won’t graduate, again,” the gritted, snarling smile in Regina’s voice is audible, “With me discredited, out of the way, he can graduate.”  
  
“Actually, Professor Mills, this morning an anonymous faculty member sent me some interesting records, which had been hidden in the server. You’ve not been submitting Mr Hunter’s work for moderation: you’ve marked every one of his assignments and examinations yourself. His claim you’ve held him back three years has merit and evidence, and he has provided a reason for you doing so. I’d find a better explanation, Regina,” Belle thinks that the Dean had allowed herself a small smile, for her next words sound almost smug, victorious, “And soon.”  
  
“You don’t know what I know, Mal,” Regina hisses, “You don’t know why Gold left.”  
  
“Because you drove him out?” the Dean replies, sweetly.  
  
“Because he was sleeping with with a known prostitute, and a member of the student body at that!” Belle winces at that, although she’d known Regina would hardly speak kindly of her, and that she was likely to be raised at some point as an argument in Regina’s favour.  
  
“Professor Gold has left this institution,” Dean Vincent says, simply, “Which student were you referring to? I thought you put little stock in the ‘gossip’ of this institution?”  
  
“Belle Charmin,” Regina grinds out, “the pair of them were at it like rabbits all last year, while she was engaged in less than moral liaisons outside of their little affair as well. You said not a word to either of them!”  
  
“Nothing was ever proven,” the Dean replies, “and they have both left the university. What would you have me do?”  
  
“Believe me.”  
  
Graham speaks up again, and Belle can hear the sound of papers hitting the Dean’s desk as he does, “My friend helped me put together all the evidence, Dean Vincent. I’d like to graduate, as I should have three years ago, with my reputation intact. And I’d like not to have to sleep with a woman I hate to do so.”  
  
“Very well, Mr Hunter,” Dean Vincent says, “that can easily be arranged.”  
  
“Thank you.” There are footsteps, and Belle jumps away from the door as Graham steps out, and sighs deeply.   
  
Bay is out of the crowd before Graham can say a word, and Belle almost blushes at the intensity of the kiss he lays on Graham’s mouth, his hands on either side of the other man’s face, his lips working furiously. Graham returns the embrace with equal passion, for just long enough to be indecent, and they end up pressed forehead to forehead, breathing deeply and hands on each other’s shoulders.   
  
“Knew you could do it, you daft bugger,” Bay says, his voice husky, and Graham nods.  
  
“You did all the real work,” he replies, “I’d still be stuck with her, if it weren’t for you.”  
  
Bay watches him a while longer, and the look on his face would be wondrous in its naked adoration, if it weren’t also far too heated for Belle’s comfort. It is a look meant for the bedroom, not a crowded corridor.  
  
Gold used to looked at her like that, Belle thinks, before she broke his heart.  
  
“Well done,” she says, patting Graham’s shoulder awkwardly, and that seems to trigger the swell of other students coming to congratulate Graham, to ask Bay how it was pulled off, and to support their friends.  
  
Belle slips away, the disappointment sickening and guilt-ridden in her stomach. She should be happy, for Graham and for the fact Bay had wanted to include her in such an important moment, but she can’t be. She’d hoped, so hoped, that this would be something that would go some way toward putting her world to rights. She is happy for Bay, but her situation is as miserable as ever.  
  
She leans against the wall a little way back from the crowd, trying not to weep again. She cried too much this summer, she thinks, she won’t start again.  
  
“Hey,” she’s surprised to see Jefferson leaning beside her, but now, after everything, she hasn’t anything left in her to be upset with him anymore. Emma’s been running out to see him all summer, although he avoided the house - and Belle - at all costs, and he’s been good to her sister so far. She can forgive one mistake, she thinks, especially when she was the one who turned the molehill into an active volcano.  
  
“Hey,” she returns, “how come you’re here?”  
  
“Grace is on the cheer squad, she knows Graham,” he says, a little awkwardly, “he’s a nice guy, and Bay said any friends would be welcome to lend support. I’m here for her as proxy.”  
  
“Ah,” Belle nods, unable to form many more words without breaking into open sobbing.  
  
“Bay… he told me to come talk to you after. Said he’d be too busy with his boyfriend to look after his would-be stepmother.”  
  
Belle looks up at that, startled and, although she loathes herself a little for it, hopeful. “What?”  
  
“Regina’s going down, Belle,” he says, gently, “no doubt about it. She’ll be discredited and probably lose her job, and good riddance. It means anything she says about you and Gold won’t matter. Dean Vincent won’t back her up - she’s spitting feathers over what happened with Graham, and she’s been after that goddamn Ethics Committee for years - and without her, Regina’s got no one to support her claims. It won’t matter if you see him or not. Especially since you both left.”  
  
Belle hadn’t put that together in her head, and she smiles, her first true smile, she thinks, since March. “Where is he?” she asks, softly, and Jefferson grins.  
  
“Bay said he was packing up his place, moving to Boston in the fall or something. And to run. He said it’d be more dramatic and moving if you ran.” Jefferson smiles, “I like that guy, you know. Shame that I’m not gay, really.”  
  
Belle giggles, wetly, and then throws her arms around her old friend, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispers, and she manages, somehow, catches Bay’s eye over his shoulder, beaming. He winks back, and she knows he’s got the message.  
  
And then, she runs.  
  
—  
  
The front door is open, surprisingly, when Belle reaches Gold’s pink house. There’s a massive removal truck standing outside, and she can see the couch where she slept that one night, the desk she’d studied on, the furniture she knows like her own, being carried out and stacked on the sidewalk.  
  
She runs inside - Bay did say to run, and who is she to deny him when he’s done so much for her? - and cries out, “Gold? You in here?”  
  
“Well, it is my home,” comes the sardonic reply, and she thinks he doesn’t know who she is, because his voice comes from the kitchen, and he doesn’t sound surprised. She walks through the living room, and stands in the kitchen door, smiling, arms folded. He’s here. He’s here, and she’s here, and it would take a nuclear bomb to stop her from beaming, happy, truly happy, for the first time in far too long. “I’m sorry,” he continues, “I was in the process of-“ he turns, and sees her, and suddenly his words die in his throat. “Belle.”  
  
She beams, “Hey.”  
  
“Wh- what in God’s name are you doing here?” he asks, but he comes closer, as if he cannot help himself. Bay wouldn’t have sent her if she weren’t wanted: she can tell by Gold’s face that he was right.  
  
“Regina’s been discredited,” she says, in a rush, “she was blackmailing Graham Hunter for sex… it’s a long story, Bay’ll tell you,”  
  
“Bay?” he asks, his own stepson’s name alien on his lips as he comes close enough that his hand, moving perhaps by its own accord, can come to hold her forearm lightly. As if proving she really exists: the confused distraction on his face is certainly dreamlike.  
  
“He told me to run, to find you. She can’t hurt us anymore… Rum, I’m so sorry,” the guilt finally overrides the happiness, and suddenly she wants to cry again, “I let her ruin everything… I hurt you, oh god, I’m so sorry-“ she can’t finish her sentence, because he’s gripped her forearms, and hauled her in, and is kissing her like his life depends on it, his tongue lapping at her lips and demanding entrance, his hands hard and insistent on her forearms. She gasps and he sweeps inside, kissing her desperately, like a man possessed, and all she can do is hold on for dear life with her hands in his hair, and her mouth against his.  
  
He pulls back, at last when he needs to breathe, and somehow she’s backed against the wall. “What were you saying?” he asks, breathing heavily, and she giggles.  
  
“I was apologising. For hurting you, for letting her make me hurt you, for having to have someone else fix this for us. You deserve better than that.”  
  
“You’re back,” he says, wonderingly, and she beams.  
  
“Yes, I am, and trying to apologise.”  
  
“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, straightforwardly. “About it not being worth it, about only thinking how you feel?”  
  
“Not one bit,” she says, truthfully. “I just… I know what your career is to you. I couldn’t let you resent me for ruining it.”  
  
“A noble thought,” he agrees, absently playing with a lock of her hair between thumb and forefinger.  
  
“I hope so. I just… I’m so glad I didn’t have to go through with it!” she laughs, freely, ecstatically. “I love you. I love you, and being away from you kills me, and I’m going to Boston next year. You won’t be my professor. No one can hurt us. Not anymore.”  
  
“Promise me, then,” Gold says, warmly, pressing another kiss to her forehead, his lips moving down her face as he speaks, “promise me we can be together. No more breaking up to save each other. No more Regina. No more rumours. Just us.”  
  
“I promise,” she beams, and captures his lips with hers, “Oh, sweetheart, I  _promise_!”


End file.
